If
by kittyebony13
Summary: FMA AU. Envy and Ed go to the same school, but Ed doesn't have a clue that Envy's been in love with him since second grade. When they're forced to work together on a project their senior year, Ed discovers some things he didn't know. WARNING: Yaoi R&R!
1. Chapter 1Envy

**Title:** If

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. Hiromu Arakawa does. If I did, random stuff like this would happen and ruin the plot.

**Plot:** It's awfully angsty (this chappie anyways) so bear with me. Basically, Envy's been in love with Ed since second grade and Ed (the #1 clueless guy on the planet) doesn't have a clue. When they're forced to work together on a project their senior year, Ed finds himself facing some assumptions he's made his entire life.

**WARNING:** YAOI, which means BOY X BOY, just FYI. If you don't like it, don't read it. I don't want any flames about it being yaoi. You were warned.

**Please read and review! I don't care if you tear it apart. It'll make me feel better about my horrid idea if I know that someone out there cares enough to rip it to pieces.**

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One

Envy

People say that love at first sight doesn't exist. Honestly, the ones spouting crap like that are the type who have never experienced love themselves, so how would they know? I can tell you here and now that love at first sight is quite real.

Flash back to second grade. My family and I had just moved to this pokey little town in Montana from New York City, and though Lust was let down at the loss of her super shopping malls, the rest of us found the change remarkably refreshing. I remember my oldest sister, Sloth, having to drag Wrath and I inside to eat dinner.

Just about everyone here lives on a farm, and we're no exception. Okay, so we don't have the actual food farm part, but we do have tons and tons of horses. Horses are just plain cool. I know I sound like those ditzy horse-freak girls, but it's the truth. I love horses. They're big and beautiful and strong… but I'm getting off topic. I was simply thrilled to have this much _space_ when we first got here.

We just barely made it into the South Pueblo School District, and the bus ride takes _hours_ because everyone lives on farms with so much space in between them. So anyway, we had to get up at five in the morning to be ready to leave by six. School starts at seven thirty, and our bus arrives at seven twenty so we're always running to get to class on time. I mean, it _could_ go so much faster, but the stupid bus driver refuses to go above forty miles an hour, or even less, sometimes.

But anyways, it was the first day of second grade and it's much easier to get to class on time in elementary school. I just trooped straight over to Ms. Keiser's room—number 314, incidentally. I remember everything about that year.

I told the teacher who I was and got my seat assignment. She stuck me near the back where, if I proved disruptive, I couldn't possibly interrupt class all that much. I stuffed my backpack under my seat and leaned my head forward on my desk, oblivious as only a seven-year-old can be to the stares I was attracting. Yes, even then… let's just say that I am (and was) _unique_.

And then _he_ walked into the room.

Even in second grade he was short. Probably about half a head smaller than I was, though his blonde antenna made up for most of the difference. His eyes were big and golden and innocent and made just for melting any heart, anywhere. His skin was lightly tanned and flawless. He had a kind look on his face as he listened to the porky boy in class, the one that nobody likes.

Edward Elric.

I fell in love with him instantly.

You know that feeling when you understand that there's only going to be one person for you, _ever?_ Well, maybe you don't. But that's how it was for me—I've never even _looked_ at anyone else. There's only him.

It's been a long time since second grade. I was lucky enough to get him in my class for third grade, too. I'm not stupid—I knew it wasn't normal for one guy to like another, so I never said anything. It took my own family two years to figure it out, and I think that Wrath still doesn't have a clue, despite the innuendoes Greed tosses around. Fourth grade was the worst, because he was in the class next door. I forced myself to learn to deal with it. I had kept my distance before then anyway, but now I put as much distance between us as I could. I learned to endure the ache in my heart, and it's a good thing I did, too.

Middle school was torture—it's hard to look at someone you almost never see. High school has been slightly better, though just yesterday I realized what is wrong with my stay-back-and-wait plan.

My senior year is already a quarter over. And once this year is done, he'll go off to college in someplace like Oxford, and I'll never see him again.

Truthfully, I locked myself in my room yesterday and refused to do anything, whether it was eat or do the laundry like I was supposed to or finish my homework. I wouldn't even come out to brush my mare, Demeter.

I'm paying for all of that today, but I don't care. I'm in the midst of a panic attack. I deserve some space.

The bus arrives at its usual time, but unlike all those years ago in second grade, only my brother Wrath and I get on. Greed and Lust are home at the moment, but that's only because my older brother is taking a year off to see some of the world before college. He's going to Spain in a week, and Lust is starting her exchange program there around the same time. They're twins, so I think it's appropriate, even if they're nothing alike.

Wrath, who is too clueless to figure out what's _really_ wrong with me, does have enough sense to see that I'm upset.

"What happened this time?" he yawns, sliding down in his seat. We're the first stop, and we always sit together near the back. There's more room to sleep and do homework back there. "You haven't been this emo in years."

"I'm not emo," I reply automatically. Okay, so maybe I am, just a little. But I don't go around wearing black and cutting myself or anything crazy like that. I hate pain.

He snorts. "Of course you aren't."

"You're being nosy," I tell him briskly as I pull out my AP Calculus work that I hadn't done last night. "Nosiness isn't becoming of a junior."

Wrath is immensely proud of his status as one of the almost-kings of the school. I don't understand it. I can't remember being all that thrilled to be a junior… except that AP classes start that year. Yes, I know I'm obsessed, but Ed is a genius, so he's in all of those, and since there isn't that large of an AP group I was guaranteed to get at least three classes with him. I did, so junior year turned out better than any of the ones before it except second and third grade. Hell. That sounds really miserable when I think of it like that. But to get back to the point, I wasn't glad to be a junior for being a junior's sake. Wrath is. It's incomprehensible.

"It isn't?" I swear, the boy is downright dense sometimes.

"Of course not," I sigh. I scribble down an answer to the first math problem and put him on disregard. If he says anything to my comment, I don't hear it.

The bus slowly fills up around us as the yellow rectangle on wheels trundles its way past field after field of tall grass. There are some animals out this early, but I only spare a glance for the horses. I really should have gone to see Demeter yesterday.

I shove my calculus back into my bag and dig out the next undone subject. Wrath's friend Lee finally gets on the vehicle and the two of them are free to chatter, leaving me alone. I am happy for this—Wrath's jabbering in my ear is really annoying. I tug absently on some strands of hair that slipped out of my ponytail, chewing on the end.

I miss the rest of the stops, so absorbed am I in finishing up the paragraph we were supposed to write for history, that had in reality been due yesterday, but I'd managed to wrangle an extra day out of the teacher. He won't be pleased when I turn in something I concocted on the bus to school, especially half-asleep as I am. That'll probably earn me another lecture. Damn.

Being in love sucks. The only time I'm ever happy is when I can at least see Ed. It's just pathetic, and Greed and Sloth have both expressed the opinion that it's unhealthy. Then again, Sloth is so demure and withdrawn that she probably can't pull off my kind of obsession, and Greed's a, well, greedy idiot. He doesn't understand love. I feel bad almost instantly about thinking that about Sloth, but with Greed, it's just the truth.

Gluttony's in love with food, enough that he's a celebrity chef on the Food Network, but that doesn't really count. Pride's in love with power, money, and prestige. Dante, my dear old mum, is in love with herself. Lust has had a turbulent history, involving at least three boyfriends over her senior year alone, but personally, I think that she'll go to Spain and meet some Spanish guy who's just as passionate and fiery and violent as she is. They'll date for five years and get married, buy a boat, and sail the world, while he earns billions of dollars by being CEO of an online company, and she makes billions of dollars from all of her scientific discoveries. Yep. That's the future I see for Lust.

I know that Wrath has his eye on at least two girls, both of them younger than he is, because he's said so at the dinner table (well, only after Greed goaded him into it). He'll have the only normal life out of all of us, I think. Wrath will get married to his college sweetheart, a nice girl from a nice Midwestern family, and they'll have the average two point five kids, the white picket fence, and the dog. His kids will have several billionaires in their list of aunts and uncles (Pride, Gluttony, and Lust come to mind. Greed, as the leader of a powerful crime syndicate, will be up there too). That leaves Sloth, who'll have won at least three Humanitarian of the Year awards and have saved an endangered species or two, as well as solved the starvation problems in Africa, and me. Well, let's see… my dating history is nil, I'm gay, and I've been in love with the same person since elementary school. Somehow, my prospects don't look so great.

Well, we're almost at the school, and I've wasted ten minutes of my time brainstorming futures for my family. Wonderful. Just wonderful. I hastily slap a few concluding sentences onto my paragraph and put that away, too. My Government work is just going to have to stay undone.

The bus pulls into the parking lot, and people rouse their sleeping friends. We all gather our stuff and shuffle off the bus, most of us yawning hugely. I was too upset last night to get much sleep, so I'm part of that category. I wish school were over with already… except that this is the only place I get to see Ed. That thought makes my heart leap and my stomach start to feel queasy at the same time. I'm happy when I'm around Ed, but simultaneously I feel sick that my time is running out. There's also that nagging feeling that I've done something wrong or forgotten something terribly important, which I hate. It makes me twitchy all day. Damn.

Students flood into the school and my bus herd follows them. It's warmer inside the building, and immediately Wrath and I part; his locker is located near the cafeteria downstairs, while mine is by the upper entrance to the library. I know. Our school might be small, but we have a kick-ass library. It's two floors and has, like, ten different sections. Okay, so I'm a nerd and I like books. Big deal. Books are like horses—you can never have enough of them.

I shove half of my textbooks into my locker and haul out my stuff for first period, the one dumb-kid class on my schedule—Acting and Theatre III. Yes, they actually spell theater with the "r" and the "e" mixed around, like the Brits do. I'm a great actor and a perfect mimic, or so I've been told. Well, it's the one thing I've got going for me, so I'm not complaining. I know people say that actors are dumb, but hey, I'm smart, right? Besides, I decided not to trust what "people say" a long time ago. In second grade.

Right away I have to turn from my locker and almost run to reach the theater, which is located next to the cafeteria. I make it with a minute to spare and find my usual seat among the red velvet chairs. Hey, I don't know what they were thinking. A ginormous library and this sweet theater? The huge high school down the way, General High School, has us beat by easily a thousand kids, and they don't have either of those things. South Pueblo High School only has eight hundred kids and we get both. I laughed at some kids from General for this at a football game once, and walked away with a black eye for my trouble. But since they ended up with some pretty serious bruises all over their arms and chests, I think I got off lightly, even if I got five detentions from the principle for beating them up.

For any of you wondering, I fall shy of six feet by a fair bit. I'm not big or burly—I only weigh about a hundred and fifteen pounds, and for a year in there somewhere the school nurse was convinced I had anorexia nervosa and was starving myself. No, I like my three square meals too much to quit eating them, thank you very much.

Acting class is a cinch, as usual. We are doing Shakespearean monologues; I got Hamlet's little "what is man?" soliloquy, but it isn't that hard. We practice them in class, and I already have over half of mine memorized. The bell rings as I listen to some kid butcher one of Romeo's long-winded descriptions of Juliet. I don't have a problem with Shakespeare—I just think _Romeo and Juliet_ is retarded.

I snatch up my bag and head for my locker. After disposing of my acting materials in favor of AP Language Arts, I feel the first stirrings of excitement, tinged with worry. Ed has this class too, even if he never looks at me. But what if he isn't here? I push that thought away. There's no reason for Ed not to be here. He's healthier than anyone I know, including me. I've been sick more times since second grade than he has.

I needn't have worried. Ed is already there by the time I enter class, and it's like some great weight has been lifted from my chest. I sigh, enjoying the freedom of unobstructed breathing, and go to take my seat at the back of the room. I feel much better now, even bordering dangerously on happy, just looking at the back of Ed's golden head.

But did I mention that Ed hardly even glances my way? I don't think I have to—it's pretty much a given. If he did, I'd be happier. But he doesn't, and what looks I earn are usually ones of irritation when I say something particularly stupid. I'm in love with him, and he doesn't think I'm even worthy of his almost boundless kindness. He's nice to _everyone_—the jocks, the nerdy girls, the plump kids, even the freakishly PMSing perfectionist chicks—except me. I love that he's so kind and thoughtful, but it tears me up inside when I wonder what I'm doing wrong. I don't know who to be other than myself, despite my acting abilities, and I guess that myself just isn't good enough for him.

_No,_ I order myself sternly. _Don't think about this. It'll only make you feel worse. Just enjoy being in the same room as Ed, being able to _see_ him. Enjoy having that stupid weight off of your chest, because soon enough it'll be there permanently._

Like I need a reminder that my time with Ed, which had once seemed so eternal, is ticking to an end with every twitch of the second hand on the clock. Blinking back a few rebellious tears—what is _wrong_ with me? I don't cry. Not usually, anyway—I pillow my head on my arms and exhale, mentally preparing myself for the lecture Mrs. Thompson is getting ready to launch into, and silently savor being able to see Edward Elric.

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**And that's not depressing in the slightest. Ah, well. The second chapter will be up the moment I have time to finish writing it....**

**Thanks for reading this far! Review please!**


	2. Chapter 2Ed

**Okay, chapter two! And THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed! You all get a huge hug and a ton of chocolate. Thanks so much! You all make me so happy.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA. If I did, there'd be a ton more horses in it than there are now. Hiromu Arakawa is the lucky writer.**

**WARNING: Yaoi, in case you didn't catch this earlier.**

**Just FYI, this chapter switches points of view. I.E., Ed's in charge now. You'll be able to tell in the future by whoever's name is below the chapter number.**

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Two

Ed

South Pueblo High School is tiny. There are only about eight hundred kids in total, which is TONS smaller than a bunch of schools I've read about, so of course it makes sense that I get the same people in most of my classes. Especially since I'm in the AP course, which automatically makes me part of a select group—one that I'm _leading_, I might add. Most of the time this is great. Winry is in four of my six classes, and both Russell and Roy in five. I know at least five people in every class. It's part of the territory, both of being in a small school as well as being inexplicably popular. I don't know why. I'm part of the "nerd herd," as I've heard several people call it (aka the AP course), but still, everyone knows my name. It's kind of creepy.

The one bad thing about being in a small school and part of the smart-kid classes—and I mean the ONE bad thing—was _him_.

Envy Bradley. I mean, I had the kid in both my second grade and third grade classes, so I should be used to him by now. I remember that he and his family moved here from New York—a fact we're all constantly reminded of by his accent, which isn't as annoying as a Texan twang or a Southern drawl, but it's close—and there have been several times when I've wished that they'd just _stayed_ there.

Why the malevolence, you ask? Most people would be shocked to hear me say something like that. I know that I'm normally a nice guy, but I can't be all Mr. Goody Two Shoes all the time, and sometimes there's just somebody that you can't stand.

Not that there is anything wrong with him as a _person_, exactly. He's just… different. He must be the only person in the AP course who doesn't care what his grade is and doesn't really know what the hell he's doing, but still—somehow—manages to get an A. I only have him beat by a few points. At the end of the year, I'll be valedictorian, and he'll be right behind me. That's one really irritating thing. A given consistency with kids in this course is that they try really hard to get the best grade. He hardly tries at all.

Another unusual and, frankly, off-putting thing is that he's completely honest. He doesn't tell a white lie when someone asks if their presentation was all right or not. He doesn't even bother to make a "hmm" noise and change the subject. No. He tells them, flat out, that it sucked. The rest of us have the decency to spare that person's feelings and tell them that it was fine, even if it really did suck. Apparently, he's a really good actor (another exasperating thing), so why can't he use those skills to make people feel better, not worse?

Envy is also completely and obviously himself. He doesn't hide who he is behind layers, like everyone else does. If he wants to do something, he goes and does it, no matter how unpopular the move may be. In our Government class, we had to talk about abortion and the constitution. Most of our class is made up of really conservative Christians, who were adamantly against it. I'm pro-choice myself, but I hardly said anything at all. Envy was so animated that he took on two-thirds of the whole class and smashed several of their arguments to bits, leaving them stuttering and hopping mad. One girl called him a "murderer" to his face. He was completely unruffled. I've never seen anyone so open about what they think and feel. He's openly gay (not that he's _ever_ dated _anyone_, which is a little weird), not that there's anything wrong with that. Hell, I'm gay myself, or at least bi, but I don't go around making it obvious. All of the homophobes direct their obnoxious and frankly disgusting jibes at him. I would feel just a bit sorry for him if he didn't toss back barbs just as vicious, if not more.

His appearance drives me even crazier. His hair is long, the longest I've ever _seen_ on a guy, easily going down to his waist. It just makes him look more like a girl than he already does. His eyes are purple, which would be weird enough if they were contacts, but I found out from somebody (can't remember who) that violet is his natural eye color. He wears lots of seriously weird T-shirts with things written on them in Japanese. He's also practically as skinny as the anorexic girls who don't eat anything except vegetables for dinner.

But the most annoying thing is that he doesn't pay any attention to me at all. He doesn't say hi or anything in the halls, he doesn't offer to be my partner in a project (not like I don't have enough of those), and he seems to forget my birthday every year. Don't get me wrong—I don't mind being popular, but I don't actively go out and seek new "friends." It's just that, back in second grade, he'd be perfectly fine and normal around everyone else, and wouldn't even _glance_ in my direction. My little seven-year-old feelings were hurt, and I still haven't gotten over that, much to my chagrin. That, plus his overall irritating qualities (he says the stupidest things sometimes, I swear), makes it hard for me to like him.

So, as usual, I am resigned to spending another hour of another day in the same classroom with my only enemy. Mrs. Thompson is a really interesting teacher, and I like listening to her lectures—except when a certain _somebody_ interrupts with some dumb comment—so overall this class is one of my favorites. It's nice to start the day out with.

"We are due to start another book," she begins, clasping her hands behind her back like a soldier. "It took some deliberation, but I finally decided that, rather than _Macbeth_, we are going to read Shakespeare's _Hamlet._"

"What a coinky-dink," a familiar voice says from the back of the room. I suppress a groan and squash down on the desire to bang my forehead into the desk. Barely half a minute into the class and here we go again.

To my surprise, Mrs. Thomson actually smiles at him. "Yes, indeed, Mr. Bradley. I do believe that you are doing Shakespearian monologues in your acting class?"

"Yep," Envy says brightly. He sounds like a goddamn cheerleader. "I got one of Hamlet's."

"Oh good," she says approvingly. "Then there's at least one person in here who knows the storyline. Anyway, class, I want you to come up here in a _single file line_ to get your books, and we'll get started with the mandatory Shakespeare-biography lecture."

Several people in the class laugh. There is a loud scraping of chairs as we all stand up and start to squeeze ourselves into one long line leading up the middle of the classroom.

"Oooh, we get to read _Hamlet!_" Winry squeals as she bounces just behind me in line. "I hear it's really, really tragic in the end. Like, everyone dies, I think. I even heard from a couple of the jock kids who had to read it for their Lit credit that it was actually pretty good."

Winry's probably my best friend in the whole world. So she's a girl, but she's so into machines and grease and oil and wrenches that you wouldn't know it once you get to know her. On the outside, she wears lots of pink and white, and occasionally she can act the part of the ditzy blonde. But really, Winry's awfully smart, and kind to everyone she doesn't know. Once she does know you, then a certain wrench is highly featured in your future. We've known each other since we were babies, so that wrench has had a major role in my past, continues to exist in my present, and will doubtlessly still be whacking me on the head when I'm thirty and finally receive permanent brain damage.

"It must be good for football players to like it," I comment. She nods.

"Exactly what I thought. So I figure it deserves a big _yay!_ Finally we get something good to read."

We reach the front of the line. Mrs. Thompson pulls two more books out of her box and checks her list. "All right, Mr. Elric, you have number 06-77. Ms. Rockbell, you have 06-78. Keep track of them under pain of death."

"We will," I promise. The one totally awesome thing about this school is the library. It's freaking _huge_. I have no idea why such a tiny school got a gigantic library, but I'm not complaining. I revere books.

Finally, we all have a copy of the text, and Mrs. Thompson launches into what she calls her "the-five-things-we-know-about-Shakespeare" speech. Needless to say, the actual factual part of the lecture is pretty short. She shows us this wickedly cool poster she has of all the different sayings we use commonly today that Shakespeare made up. I recall that she told us one time that she got it in London.

Roy asks her if we'll get to see a movie of _Hamlet_ after we finish the play. He looks like he belongs on a soccer field or something in Europe, and more than one girl has her eye on him. Despite the fact that he can be a pompous jerk and has a weird sort of pyromania that always puts him in charge of bonfires at parties, I actually like Roy Mustang. He sits with us at lunch, along with his own little gang of friends. Riza Hawkeye, who sits two chairs behind me, is probably his best bud. She keeps them all under rigid control, and the entire class is of the opinion that one day she'll become the Secretary of War to the president, Mr. Mustang himself. The other gang members include Kain Fuery, Vato Falman, Heyman Breda, and Jean Havoc, all of who are also in this class.

"If we have enough time in our schedule after concluding the play, then yes, I will find us a movie and we will watch it," Mrs. Thompson replies. The whole class cheers, and for once Havoc is the loudest rather than Envy. Okay, this is kind of random, but seriously, who the _hell_ would name their kid _Envy?_ Isn't that one of the seven deadly sins? For crying out loud, that's custom-made for bullies to take advantage of… if Envy weren't somehow bully-proof. As well as totally obnoxious and ridiculous, as well as the one person in the world I dislike and can't get away from.

Anyway, the rest of the Shakespeare lecture is pretty boring. Mrs. Thompson shows us a few of his more famous passages from all sorts of books, including _Romeo and Juliet_, _Macbeth_, and _Julius Caesar._ She's finished ten minutes before class is over, and lets us sit around and talk for the duration of the period. That's one thing I adore about Mrs. Thompson—she may be a strict teacher, but she does know how to have fun (and when to trust a group of kids to behave).

The bell rings, and everyone streams out the door. Since half the class had gathered at the door with their things three minutes beforehand, there's the typical bottleneck, but we're all out of there shortly anyway. My locker is on the first floor, right by the calculus room. This is nice, especially coming from AP Lang and going to AP Calc as I am. I dump my books in the tall, gray, metal cabinet and pull out the heavy math textbook. I like math. It and science are probably my favorite classes.

My calc teacher makes the class even more fun. He's a bubble-gum popping, hair gelling punk type. He rides a motorcycle to school and has square glasses that somehow manage to jive with his whole "punk rocker" scheme. Mr. Holloway is constantly bringing in weird philosophical questions into the math mix; he's a huge fan of Emerson and Thoreau, and I swear he's a political activist on the weekends.

Today we go off on a tangent (ha ha, math term!) and end up talking about the fact that myths may be closer to the true truth than actual scientific fact. No, I have no idea how we got there. Somehow the fact that Death was once a gentleman in a top hat with a carriage but had now upgraded to New York Indian cab driver got into the mix (I think Envy was behind that one). Only about ten minutes of math were actually done—but hey, that's why we're in the AP course. It means we can take care of ourselves.

The bell rings and dismisses us for lunch. Russell and Roy pop up by my sides and "escort" me to my locker, as they like to call it. I think they just have fun pretending to be the Secret Service.

My brother Al and I pack our lunches because it's cheaper. I find my bag in my backpack and slam the locker door shut, automatically twisting the dial. Neither Russell nor Roy ever bring lunch, so they tug me off towards the cafeteria. We weave through the hallways, stepping over people's legs (another pet peeve of mine: why on earth would people sit against opposite lockers and then _lay their legs flat_ so there's only about three inches of hallway left?).

I peel off from my friends at the line and head into the cafeteria itself, making a beeline for our table. It's already half-full with people like I who packed a lunch; Riza, Winry, Rose, and Fuery are among them. I drop into the seat beside Riza.

"Maybe we should _make_ a _Hamlet_ movie," Fuery suggests solemnly.

"What could we use for special effects?" Rose argues. "And besides, there aren't enough girl roles. I know for a fact there's only about two."

"Some of us could dress up as guys," Winry pipes up. "Besides, I heard from… someone that the part of Hamlet has been played by girls before."

"What on earth are you guys talking about?" I ask in bewilderment.

"We want to make our own version of _Hamlet_ so Mrs. Thompson will _have_ to show it," Fuery tells me. "That should take up a couple of class periods at least."

"I don't think you'll be able to get enough people involved," I say, very serious. Not many people in our class are into acting.

"She said she was going to let us watch a _professional_ version anyway, if we finish early," Riza says placidly. She always seems so calm and proficient, even when she gets mad. Then Riza Hawkeye is kind of scary.

"Yeah, but that involves actually reading the book," Havoc sighs as he sits down beside Fuery. Breda joins him a second later.

"I can't believe they let you into that class," Winry tells him seriously.

"Neither can I."

"But guess what we heard?" Breda breaks in. Without waiting for any of us respond, he continues, "Apparently we're getting a big project in history today. As in, like, the biggest project we've ever done, _period._"

"Oh, great!" I stab into my chopped pineapple with more force than is strictly necessary. "I hate big projects! Do you know what it's going to be about?"

Breda shakes his head. "Not a clue. But I heard it was a partner project. An _assigned_ partner project."

Everyone groans. Partner projects are great when you're best buds with the partner, but as soon as you get off that base they become nearly impossible. I take a swig of my water and hope I don't get anyone _too_ awful.

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**And that's it for chapter two! I know Ed's OOC, too, but that's too bad. It has to work this way. I'm sorry. I'll bet you can tell what's coming up next, though...**

**Chapter three might take a bit in coming up. Final's are in a week and a half, so the homework load will start cracking down... but at least I have the whole weekend to get a start on the next chappie!**

**Anyway, as usual, REVIEW PLEASE! Flames are welcome. And let's have another round of applause for my peeps who reviewed last time! I LOVE YOU ALL!!**


	3. Chapter 3Envy

**Hey, I'm back! Here is (obviously) chapter three! Sorry it took me so long to write it, I couldn't figure out how to move Envy from the library to his next class... yeah... pathetic...**

**BIG HUG TO ALL OF MY REVIEWERS! You guys rock! It made my day to see I had nine reviews already! (glomps) (sniffles) I'm sorry, I needed that... after today....**

**ARAKAWA-SENSEI, HOW COULD YOU?!?! (breaks down sobbing) You made me cry! (Well, actually, in real life it was a close call...) I can't (sniffle) tell you guys what happened (sob) because I don't know (hic) if you've read the latest (choke) chapter of FMA. (Cries again) I'm wearing black to school tomorrow in mourning... it would've been for a month but I don't have enough black to last that long....**

**WARNING: Yaoi, boy x boy, you know the drill...**

**DISCLAIMER: suffice to say that, if I owned FMA, chapter 95 would have turned out a LOT differently (sobs)**

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Three

Envy

I like to spend my lunches in the library. You aren't really supposed to eat in there, but I know all of the librarians and they make an exception for anyone who agrees to help them shelve books afterward. I'm all too happy to do this—I've done it for practically every lunch period since freshman year—with the result that I know the entire library top to bottom.

Tanya greets me as usual when I pass the buzzers. She's my favorite of the three librarians. We're about as mixed of a pair as you can get—she's nearly six foot, weighs two hundred pounds, and has skin the color of hot chocolate. Her hair is straight and cut short on the right side. She parts it close to her right ear and flops the longer left half over her face. Her natural dark brown hair is nearly always dyed three colors at the least, and she must have ten piercings total on just her ears. She has a really loud, obviously African American voice, and can scare the hell out of any careless book user. Despite this threatening voice, she's funny and caring and has a devotion to books that surpasses even my own. Dog ears cause her to wince. Bent paperback spines send her into a tizzy. And you don't even _want_ to know what happens when a book comes in with its cover half ripped off.

"C'mere, you," she says, draping one of her arms over my shoulders and tugging me over to the checkout desk. "There's some new books here you might be interested in."

"Okay." Tanya's so easy to get along with, which is a novel experience for me (ha ha, no pun intended). I tuck my bag under the desk and follow her to a small stack of brand-new paperbacks on one of those book carts.

"Well, this one's a crime, because it's not exactly new to the market," Tanya begins, picking up the one on the top of the stack. It has a yellow and brown cover, with a bunch of dominoes on the front. I read the title.

"_The Book Thief_?"

"Yeah, it's supposed to be really good," Tanya says with a shrug. "I can't believe we're only getting in now, but there you go. It's about a girl living in Nazi Germany."

"Sounds fun." I take the book from her and open it up to a random page, skimming it. She slaps the cover shut.

"Haven't we talked about this before?" she asks in mock rage. "You ain't supposed to read from the middle! C'mon, white boy, have some respect for those authors!"

I pretend to cower. "I'm sorry! I won't do it again, I promise!"

She ruffles my hair like I'm three years old again. "As a punishment, I'm going to make you read it from the beginning. Hand it over." I give it back to her, and with a few quick motions she's checked it out in my name and is putting it back in my hands. "Now you take good care of that book. It's someone's pride and joy."

"I will," I promise, just like every other time. I tuck it into my bag and find my sandwich. Tanya puts labels on the rest of the new books and we talk about her day. She gripes about a new gang of page rippers, and we laugh over the various, and awfully bloody, revenges she'd like to exact over them. I add some new ones to her repertoire, and we agree that she should make a giant sign with all of the punishments on it for the crimes against books.

"So what about you?" she asks. By this time I've finished my lunch and we've moved on to shelving the books. I have a stack in my arms, and I focus on their spines as I slide them carefully into place. I shrug.

"Nothing new."

Tanya gives me a friendly pat on the back that succeeds in knocking the wind out of me. "You're always such a clam!" she sighs. Half joking, she continues, "Good grief, hon, it can't be good to keep this tight-lipped about stuff. I was watching this show the other day about how abused children won't talk to people—"

"Well, I'm not abused," I interrupt. I smile at her when she looks at me skeptically. "Dante doesn't care enough to abuse anyone."

"That's a form of abuse too, Envy," she tells me, serious now.

I blink at her. "I have the rest of my family, and _they_ don't ignore me. I'm nowhere near abused."

Tanya sighs again and shakes her head. She knows when she won't get anything else out of me. She takes some of the books from my stack and walks off without another word to put them away. Feeling slightly bad, but not badly enough to tell her anything really important, I resume my shelving.

The bell rings, and I return the books I didn't get to put away to their cart. I pull my backpack out from under the desk and head for the door. Tanya waves at me as I leave. Apparently, I'm forgiven, and I can't help but smile as I wave back.

Government is the most boring class ever. Thank goodness it's only a semester-long deal, so I'm halfway done. I haven't even started on my homework from last night, so it doesn't get turned in when the teacher asks for it, but I don't care. I have over a hundred percent in that stupid course anyway.

Mr. Warren drones on and on about something to do with Congress, but I'm not listening. I pull out my paragraph for next period—AP European History—and fix it, making my sentences better, so it looks like I actually spent some quality time on it instead of doing it on the bus this morning.

Even when I'm finished with that, though, there's still ten minutes of class left. I rest my chin on the desk and try not to doze off. A minute and a half until the bell is due to ring, Mr. Warren passes out a worksheet, due tomorrow. I barely glance at it as I stuff it into my bag. My heart lifts slightly. Ed's in my next class. I'm never bored when he's around.

The bell does its little three-ding deal, and everyone sleepily grabs their stuff and stumbles out the door. I go back upstairs and happily drop my Government book into my locker, not thinking that I might need it for the homework tonight. I unearth the huge, three-and-a-half inch thick AP European History book and lug it after me. Aside from my sixth period class, this one is my only one upstairs. I don't have to go far, thank goodness.

Because of my close proximity I'm one of the first ones there. Once again I have a desk at the back, in a weirdly empty section of the classroom. I suspect that the teacher, Mr. Richards, did this on purpose to stop me from "bothering the other students". I think that he thinks that I'm a disruptive influence. It's not my fault my mouth won't stay hinged whenever I have something to say. Well, not entirely my fault, anyway. I come from a loud-mouthed family. Not a one of us (except for maybe Sloth) has a problem announcing what we think _and_ making it so everyone can hear us at the same time. Everyone except me has ways of putting it to good use; I just end up in trouble.

Speaking of, I'm going to be sunk when I turn in that paragraph. I dump my book on my desk with a room-shaking crash and dig through my backpack to find the paper. After a moment of serious searching I finally uncover it, wedged into the bottom corner. Well, then. I pull it out and hastily scrawl my name at the top, along with the word EXCUSED written in caps. He probably won't be able to read it, but whatever. I toss it into the turn-in bin, and am just turning around to head back to my seat when I bump into someone.

More specifically, a short, golden-haired, golden-eyed someone who just happens to be carrying my heart around in his pocket.

How'd you guess?

Somehow I manage to stutter, "I'm sorry" and hop back from Ed like I've been electrically shocked. Well, that's what it feels like, anyway.

Ed looks up at me with the most supremely annoyed expression on his face. My heart tries to do three things at once: leap that he's looking at me, drop through the floor that he seems ready to tear my throat out, and twist in place uncomfortably because my tongue seems to have vanished. All that ends up happening is a very uncomfortable, painful, _thunk_ that makes it feel like my heart is being ripped in two. Ow.

"Just watch where you're going," he snaps, his irritation evidently getting the better of him. Well, it was my fault, as is the fact that I'm really, really clumsy when I'm not kicking someone's ass, and easily a hundred times as klutzy when Ed's around. Yippee. Yet another way to totally and completely convince Ed that I'm an idiot.

In any case, I'm too busy mentally beating myself up to respond at all to his statement, and he's gone before I can blink. Years of practice allow me to collect myself quickly and go back to my seat like nothing's the matter. Nobody cares when I drop into the chair and bury my head in my arms, feeling the cool faux-wood of the desk under my cheek, which is just now starting to burn. Damn.

The bell dings again, though the class doesn't stop talking. Until Mr. Richards actually stands up in front of the room, we're allowed to chat—not that there's anyone remotely near enough to my desk to talk to. That, and nearly everyone in this class I wouldn't care to chat with anyway.

I'm too busy mulling this over to notice that the classroom has gone semi-quiet, in that half-sniggering way that announces that someone totally unsuspecting is about to get it.

Hands slam down on the edges of my desk. "ENVY!" a voice bellows, nearly in my ear. I jump up so fast that I knock my chair back and bang my head on the wall.

"Ow! Shit!"

The class bursts out laughing. I rub the back of my skull gingerly with one hand and look warily up at Mr. Richards, who has a very satisfied smirk on his face.

"Have a nice nap?" he asks.

"I wasn't sleeping," I mutter. In Government, the charge might have been accurate, but with Ed in the room I can't sleep.

Mr. Richards shakes his head, clearly not believing me. "Now that Mr. Bradley has consented to join us," he says loudly, drowning out the continued snickers, "it's time to move on to the _real_ focus of this hour." He winds his way back to the front of the room; I decide to leave what will doubtlessly become a bruise alone and prop my chin up on my hand, wondering what torture the teacher has in line for us today. I'm not a huge fan of history class, especially with Mr. Richards teaching it.

Jean Havoc puts up his hand. Havoc is actually one of the members of this class I can stand. He's not too bright, stinks of cigarettes, and tends to do goofy stuff, but he's really a lot nicer than you'd expect. Anyway, _I_ like him, which is good enough for me.

"Is it true we're doing a partner project?" he asks when Mr. Richards gestures at him.

The teacher beams. "Yes indeedy, Jean!"

Three-quarters of the class groans. The others are simply relieved not to have to do it alone.

"Everyone in class will have one partner, assigned by me, and you'll be working on one century of European history!" Mr. Richards seems ridiculously pleased that his topic was introduced for him. "You'll have until the end of the year to come up with enough pertinent information to fill an entire class period. Seeing as there's twenty-eight of you in here, that makes fourteen pairs. Your century will also be assigned by me. Any questions?"

Paninya raises her hand. "Will we get time to work in the library on this?"

"Yep. That's where we're headed today, and the rest of the week. Anything else? Yes, Breda?" Don't ask me where his parents got it, but the kid's first name is Heymans. Honestly, that's almost as weird as mine, plus it's ten gazillion times harder to say, so everyone (even the teachers) calls him Breda.

"Will we be able to swap partners if we can't work well together?"

"No," Mr. Richards says resolutely. A groan goes through the class at this. "It's about time you kids grew up. You won't always be with someone you like, and it's time you got used to that. So just suck it up and deal with it. Any more questions?"

Nobody says anything.

"Great!" Mr. Richards grabbed a list from his desk and perched on a tall stool he always had up at the front of the room, peering at it intently. "Right, now… let's see. Rose, you're with Havoc, and the two of you have the fourteenth century. Riza, you and Winry have the eighth century. Kain and…."

I mostly tune out at that point. I catch after two more pairs that Roy Mustang got stuck with Olivier Armstrong as a partner for the eighteenth century, and have to snigger at that one. Roy and Olivier don't get along at all.

"Ed," Mr. Richards calls out, and I automatically start listening again. Ed won't have a problem with this project. He gets along well with everyone…. "You have the eleventh century with Envy."

Wait. Wait a second. Did he just say my name? I must have heard wrong.

"And you'd better behave, Envy," the teacher shouts back at me. "Did you hear that?"

"Huh?" Right. Brilliant. Just brilliant. I still think he must have said something wrong. There's no way _I_ could be paired with _Ed_. That just isn't possible. The universe would never let it happen.

"You heard me," he says. "Eleventh century. Ed Elric. Get it into your notes."

I make no move towards my pencil, but he's already moved on to the next pair—Vato Falman and Russell Tringham, one with a mind like a steel trap and the other irritating as all hell—so he doesn't see my lack of response.

_Oh. My. God._

He means me.

I'm suddenly overwhelmed by panic. I've barely spoken to Ed, mainly for the tiny little fact that I tend to get tongue-tied whenever he's around. I can't speak clearly to his face to save my life. But this is a project, so I'll _have_ to talk.

That, and I'm absolutely terrified as to what being so close to him will do to me. I'll have to try not to stare at him like a lovesick cow. I'll have to try to ignore that stupid twisting heart of mine. I'll have to try to ignore how beautiful and smart and funny and just plain wonderful he is. I'll probably fail.

And on top of all this, I'll have to work really hard not to trip over something like, say, a crack in the linoleum, and break my leg. Like I said earlier, I'm a klutz around Ed. On second thought, maybe breaking my leg wouldn't be such a bad idea after all….

The rest of the assignments are rattled off quickly. The teacher puts his clipboard aside with a very satisfied look on his face. I feel a swooping sensation in my stomach, like I'm going to be sick, and can't tell if it's because of the expression on his face or the fact that the butterflies are leading a mass revolt to force their way out of my throat.

Mr. Richards claps his hands. "All right, everybody, to the library! Mush!"

And once again we are standing up, grabbing all of our stuff, and heading back into the hallway. I'm one of the last to leave, too busy panicking and trying to get my books to stay put in the bag to keep up with everyone else. So, in the end, I walk down to my usually safe haven with the teacher, Rose, and Havoc. It turns out that Rose, being the considerate girl she is, waited for her new partner to make sure they could discuss tactics on the way down. Mr. Richards gives them a few pointers, and I say nothing. I'm still not sure what the hell I'm supposed to do when we finally go through the library's main entrance.

Mr. Richards waves at us to disperse and wanders off to talk to Tanya, who gives me a quick wave. I manage one in return before scanning the large, book-filled room for that beloved golden head.

I spot Ed almost instantly. He's sitting at one of the tables without a computer, looking supremely irritated, and busy sorting out all of his notes. I swallow hard and take a deep breath to compose myself before walking over to him like nothing's the matter.

I dump my bag on the table and sit down across from him, carefully stopping myself from looking at him directly as I root around in my bag for a pencil and some paper. I try to ignore the fact that this is the closest I've ever been to him. I try to ignore the fluttering in my stomach. I try to ignore the fact that I can just catch his delicious scent. I fail on all three counts.

"Okay, look," Ed says suddenly, blowing out a hard breath. I look up at him in shock. Meeting his eyes instantly wipes my mind clear. "Here's the deal. You don't like me and I don't like you, but I really don't want an F on this big of a project. Let's just promise to work together until this is over, and then everything goes back to normal. Deal?"

_I don't dislike you._ It's the only thing I can think of, but I know he's waiting for an answer, and my acting skills finally—miraculously—kick in.

"Deal," I say briskly.

He nods; looking somewhat relieved, he turns to the papers he has stacked into neat piles in front of him. I admire how organized he is. My bag is a mess.

"Right, eleventh century," he mumbles under his breath, picking up one of the stacks. "Let's see… important events…."

My mouth opens before I can stop it. "The Bayeux Tapestry, Battle of Hastings, 1066." Yes, I actually did learn something, and yes, I'm mentally slapping myself.

He looks up at me skeptically. I try not to lose myself in the molten gold of his eyes and attempt a smile. It is a flop, in all likelihood.

"Hmm…" he murmurs, putting a star next to a bullet on the third page of this stack of notes. "I suppose that counts…."

He would have thought of it anyway, I'm sure. It was probably on the tip of his tongue when my genetically huge mouth beat him to it. Ed can get a one hundred percent on this project all by himself.

But still, all the same, it seems like even my genes have abandoned me. My mouth won't work anymore, and I can only sit there helplessly, intoxicated by his very presence, only saying "hmm" every so often when he bothers to ask my pathetic opinion, and wishing that my heart doesn't feel like it's falling apart.

**____________________________**

**Jeesh, I don't even know where half of that came from. And does anyone else feel sorry for poor Envy? I do. His plan seriously backfired... poor dude.**

**Anyways, this is something I've been meaning to mention, but none of the teachers (well, except for the English one-- I think I made her up) are actually mine. They're teachers from my school because I was too bored to create new ones. Mr. Holloway isn't really a punk rocker (and he doesn't teach math either) but he does like Emerson, and I don't really know Mr. Richards, AT ALL, so I'm probably doing him a disservice by making him a jerk. And Mr. Warren's nowhere near that boring. Oh, well.**

**This chapter was ten pages instead of the usual eight! Woohoo!**

**Read and review, please! I love you all!**


	4. Chapter 4Ed

**15 REVIEWS ALREADY? (Heh... it changed to sixteen between the time I put this up and finished writing the author's note...) I can't believe it! I love you guys so much! (group glomp) I'm so glad that you think this story is worth continuing! You all deserve a chocolate bar wrapped in gold foil and a stuffed bunny rabbit. I love you guys! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!!**

**On another, totally random, note, I saw Star Trek yesterday! It was really good-- I was surprised. Even my dad liked it, and that's saying something. We can't let him watch CSI because he rants and raves about just about everything, how it "wouldn't really happen." Usually that goes for space movies too (including Star Wars) but he liked this one, so that's a huge compliment!**

**I had something else to say here... but I can't remember what it was... OH! Right. I really want to hit Ed right about now, so be prepared for some Envy-hating in this chappie. And I'm sorry that I can't tell you guys if it's going to get happier or not, because that would ruin the suspense! But what I CAN tell you is that the chapter after this next one is gonna be pivotal (i.e., chapter six). So I feel really bad that I can't tell you, but can you guys hold on for two more chapters? Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA. Obviously. Otherwise Envy would wear a green shirt with the words ENVY ME on the chest (I really wanna make that shirt....) Since he doesn't, I'm not Hiromu Arakawa in disguise.**

**WARNING: do I even have to put this in here anymore? YAOI, peeps! BOY X BOY**

**Oh, and if you read the author's note at the bottom, I have a question for you guys! (ha ha... part of my evil plot to make you read the whole chapter...)**

**Enjoy!**

**_________________________________________**

Four

Ed

I want to scream.

I'm not a screamer, either (well, except when people call me the s-word, and that's only self-defense. I am _not_ you-know-what!). But for some reason I keep reliving that moment in Mr. Richards' class when my entire good year went down the drain.

Okay, so maybe I'm over exaggerating _just_ a little. But seriously—Envy is the _last_ person I want to be saddled with on a year-long, five-hundred-point project. I just can't work well around him. I was surprised when he even had something to contribute at the outset, but he hasn't said anything since.

In fact, he's looking down at the table at the moment, tracing the printed-on grains of the faux wood. His ridiculously long hair is hiding his face.

I sigh and go back to my list. The eleventh century shouldn't be too hard, but I don't know what I can do to present this thing to the class. Powerpoints are boring, but I don't know what else to do, plus I'm worried that Envy won't do anything and will end up dragging us both down. Goddamnit. Why did I get stuck with the slacker? Mr. Richards must hate me.

"Ed!"

I look up from my paper, surprised, in time to see Falman and Russell claim the last two seats at our table. Envy glances up too before returning to fiddling with the table. Anti-social much?

"Seriously, what is with this project?" Russell complains. "We got the seventh century. Can you believe that? That's, like, forever ago! Paninya and Breda got lucky—they got the twentieth century. Easy, huh?"

"The eleventh century doesn't look too bad," I say, glancing at my notes. "There's the Great Schism, and the Investiture Controversy, and the Bayeuex Tapestry, and the Domesday Book, and even the First Crusade."

Falman nods at each. "Cool."

"Death and destruction," Russell says sourly.

"Why aren't you guys researching?" I ask curiously.

"I made a personal promise to myself not to do any hard work my senior year," Russell tells me, solemn.

I glare at him. "Don't bring Falman down with you," I warn him, "or I'll seriously hunt you down and kill you, and then put your head on a stake outside the school as a warning to all slackers. You have been warned." I am only partly joking. I'm dealing with this problem already, and I don't want Falman's four-point-oh to get ruined by Russell.

He holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "All right, Ed, all right! I promise I'll do my best not to screw this up. Happy now?"

I shrug and go back to my notes, still wondering how on earth I'm going to pull this one off.

"I didn't know this was a group project," a voice booms from not very far away. We all look up automatically, to see a large African American woman, one of the librarians, looming over Envy's shoulder.

"We're just sitting here," Russell says quickly.

"Well then, _just sit_ somewhere else," she huffs. "Come now, child, I ain't stupid! You're slackin' off work. Now, you two go find your own table before I lose my temper."

Falman gets the point quicker than Russell. He stands and hurries around the table to grab his friend's wrist, tugging him off around a bookshelf. They disappear from view. I try not to sigh in disappointment. Now I'm left with a weirdly silent Envy, which won't last long. Any second now he'll start up again with some stupid comment or another.

The librarian drops one hand on my partner's thin shoulder, causing it to dip and hitch up his other one. "Envy, hon, why don't you go get some books for your friend here? You won't get much research done with just a few piles of notes."

Envy nods and slides out from under her hand, walking behind a set of computers and out of sight. The librarian sits down heavily in his vacated seat.

"I'm Tanya," she says bluntly.

"Edward Elric," I tell her, polite to a fault. I like librarians. Despite the stereotype in books (skinny, beak-like nose, glasses, old, freakishly devoted to all forms of writing, and EVIL) I've never met one like the librarian in _Harry Potter_, for example. All of the librarians I know are really sweet people, and this woman, with her pink, orange, blue, and green-dyed hair, seems no different.

"He's not that bad of a kid," she says, jerking her thumb over her shoulder, and a split second later I realize that she's talking about Envy. Great. She must have noticed my un-enthusiasm to working with him. "Really. And he knows the whole library from top to bottom, so he can find all of your book resources for you."

I make myself nod. Well, now at least I know how to get rid of him for a while. It's a cruel thought, and I feel a momentary pang of guilt, but I banish it. Hey, I'm making him earn his half of the grade. If he works well in libraries, great. Maybe this will force him to chip in. "Okay."

Tanya sighs, as though she's reading my thoughts. Luckily, though, she doesn't have time to scold me for them, because for once Envy's timing is perfect. He comes back around the computers, expression unreadable, three heavy books hugged to his chest. He sets them gently on the table—he shows considerably more respect to books than to his own backpack, I note.

"That's a boy," Tanya says fondly, tugging on the end of his ponytail as she stands up. "I don't think Edward here knows the library as well as you do, so how about you handle that for him, hm?"

Envy nods silently, not looking at either of us as he starts flipping through one of the resource books. Thus, I'm the only one to see the subtle pain that shoots through Tanya's face as she pats him once more on the back and takes her leave. She glances back at the two of us with a sad, perplexed look on her face before vanishing to assist some other students.

"There," Envy says suddenly, catching me by surprise. He pushes the book towards me. "The Great Schism." Before I can reply, he goes back to his chair, movements stiff, and collapses back into it. He immediately pillows his head on his arms, hiding his features from view.

An irrational dislike rushes through me. What, he'd rather go to sleep than look at or help me? Seems like nothing's changed since second grade after all, not like I really expect it to have. I guess he must really hate me to keep a grudge for this long. And I don't even know what I did! It's utterly absurd.

Fuming, I turn to the page he'd opened the book to. Well, it's his own fault if I don't like him. He doesn't care about this class, but _I_ do, and I _will_ get an A on this project whether he wants me to or not.

The last ten minutes of class are spent reading the section on the Great Schism. Envy sleeps the entire time, not stirring even once. I wonder savagely why the teacher can't come and find him dozing off _now_.

The bell rings, and he finally rouses himself. His eyes are slightly red, and he takes the books and his backpacks and departs without another word. Shaking with suppressed anger, I gather all of my notes and head off to my AP Chemistry class where I will, unfortunately, have to deal with Envy yet again. I have him in all of my classes except first hour, when I have Government, and fourth period, which is Physics. I love science, and this year I was able to persuade the counselor to let me take two at the same time.

I push my notes into my backpack so I'll remember to take them home with me and find all of my chem. stuff. The chemistry room is upstairs, and I feel my downed spirits lift as I hurry up the stairs.

I have the same teacher for both physics and chemistry, and he's easily the coolest teacher in the school, even cooler than Mr. Holloway. This is Mr. Prnka's first year at SPHS. He just moved here from somewhere in Alaska, and though ERHS is probably missing him, I'm really glad he came. He has the funniest little bubbly Texas twang, and he's the only person with a Texas accent I can stand. Science class is absolutely hysterical with him as a teacher.

Today we're doing an experiment with thermochemistry, so it's nothing too hard. We're just working with heating metals up and sticking them in water, etc. Roy's in my group, so from prior experience we let him handle the hot plate. Yes, he may be a pyromaniac, but he can control that thing like no one else.

"How are y'all doin'?" Mr. Prnka asks when he comes to inspect our data. I show him what I wrote down, and he nods. "Good, good. Roy, don't you up the heat on that one, mind. It's gotta stay the same temperature, or else your data's ruined."

"Yes, sir," Roy says. He quickly changes the dial back to where it should have been.

Chemistry, as usual, flies by in a blur. My group finishes early, so we're working on the lab packet when the bell rings. I grab my stuff and head for my locker, glad that school's out.

I put my homework in my backpack over the course of the day so I can't forget it when it's time to go home, so all I have to do is zip it close and throw it over one shoulder. I unhook my car keys from the back of the locker and slam the door shut, twisting the dial. I settle my bag into a more comfortable position as I walk down the hallways toward the back parking lot of the school. Most of the kids are heading out this way—it's where the buses wait for them—so I'm jostled to and fro as I move. People are calling goodbyes and waving. I always wave back.

My car is a used Subaru with a large trunk that seats eight on a good day, when it's only supposed to fit five. My brother Al is already there, waiting for me, leaning against the passenger-side door.

Al's taller than me by a good foot (don't you _dare_ say the s-word), his hair dirty blonde and his eyes a kind hazel. The entire school is friends with Alphonse. He's too nice, so the bullies don't know what to do, and then end up sitting with him and his friends at lunch. They're always converted within minutes, so I don't even have time to blow up at them.

"About time you got here, brother," he says with a chuckle as I unlock the doors and toss my backpack into the trunk. He climbs in and I follow suit a moment later, starting the engine. "Mrs. Doerry let us out of German early again, so it felt like I was standing here _forever_."

Before you ask, Al and I are both fluent in German. It runs heavily in my dad's (curse him) side of the family, and we lived there for a while. Al's the teacher aide for the German teacher here at SPHS.

We don't live far from the school and the town, so it isn't more than a fifteen minute drive to our little farm. We don't run it anymore because there aren't enough of us. Winry's our next-door neighbor, and their cow ranch is still running, even though only Winry and her Granny Pinako live there, but that's because Granny still works like she's twelve years old (i.e., with tons of energy) even though she has to be eighty years old at least. After dad-the-bastard left us and mom died, we couldn't keep our horses. Al and I can barely make ends meet around the house as it is without twenty large animals adding to the mix.

Our house is three stories tall and white, with an attached garage that I pull the car into. The garage is neat and tidy, which is a prelude to the rest of the house. Al loves to clean, and he can go pretty OCD on the place. Everything has its proper place, and he always goes on a flurry of cleaning every three days to fix everything I've managed to put out of place.

The one place I do not allow him to touch is my room, and that's where I retire now. It's a mess—clothes on the floor, bed unmade, books lying in a heap on the bedside table. I shove a bunch of papers aside and boot up my computer, pulling out my physics homework.

Being the diligent little student I am, I finish my homework by five o'clock. That's when I go find my favorite CD and put it into the disk player, humming along with all of the songs as I surf the internet, looking into colleges. I'm constantly working on applications, even though the places I really want to go—Stanford, Harvard, and Oxford—have already been applied to. One can never be too careful. For instance, today I stumble across a college I had only vaguely heard about, William and Mary, and decide to send them my application, too. It seems like a good school.

"ED!" Al shouts up the stairs. "DINNER!"

Yes, Al's the cook. He's really good at it, good enough that he could be a chef and make money off of it. I burn water. Needless to say, Al's the cook in our house.

I thump back downstairs in my socks and head for the kitchen. The place is spotless, not looking at all like it's recently been subjected to a bout of cooking that someone outside the Food Network has probably rarely seen. Al always goes overboard. This time he has concocted some kind of casserole thing that actually contrives to look good. I help by pouring my water and then pulling out some gloves to get Al his (shudder) milk. That stuff is disgusting. Ever since I saw how we get milk—I was three and over at Winry's place—I haven't been able to see the stuff without breaking out in sweat. I won't even eat something that has milk _in_ it, with the result that Al sometimes has to go out of his way to make something sans milk. I would feel bad, but he seems to enjoy the challenge.

"So how was your day?" I ask as we sit down, even though I already know the answer.

"It was great!" Al gushes. It's always the same answer with him. He has all of the luck in the world. "Fletcher and I got to do a Rube Goldberg thing in our science class. It was awesome!" He goes on to explain exactly what objects they used to move a car from one side of the lab table to the other. I have to admit that my good-for-nothing father was actually good for one thing: giving both of us his knack for science. I want to find a cure for cancer, one that will work for _everything_. Ever since mom died of a brain tumor, it's been my goal. Al wants to help too, and between the two of us I think that we can pull it off.

"How about you?" Al asks me.

I exhale and shrug. "Well, it was fine up until fifth hour."

A frown creases my brother's face. "Uh oh. What did Mr. Richards do this time?" As you can probably gather, I don't like my AP Euro teacher overmuch.

"He gave us a partner project," I sigh. "And, of course, who should I be paired up with but _Envy._"

My brother has heard about Envy, via the occasional rant that'll force its way out of me at something outstandingly annoying that the long-haired teen will have done. Of course, he's too nice to hate Envy, but he does hold a slight bias against him, which for Al is like saying he loathes you. He even extends this slight aversion to Envy's little brother, Wrath, who I think might be the one person who even slightly annoys my brother. Something about the Bradley family just doesn't jive with the Elrics, I guess.

"Oh no! Well, it can't be that bad of a project, can it?" Al asks, trying to look on the bright side. "I mean, how many points is it worth?"

"Five hundred," I say gloomily. "And it's a year-long project, which I'll have to do basically all by myself."

"I'll help," Al puts in instantly.

"Thanks." I smile at him. "I'll have to see how it goes first, okay? But I guess we have to find all of the most important information about the eleventh century and then present it to the class in the form of an hour-long lesson. I can't think of a good way to do that."

"I'll help," Al repeats, a thoughtful look already establishing itself on his face as he begins to ponder this problem. With Al on my side, this project is starting to seem less horrible.

_Envy had better not be thinking of ways to sabotage this,_ I think grimly, _or I'll rip his head off._

**________________________________________________________________**

**Ed is seriously into his grade, isn't he? Anyway, I can't remember half of what I was going to say down here... except that I'd be really, really sad if Mr. Prnka left me! Yes, he's actually my chemistry teacher at my high school. If you noticed, I actually mentioned which state I live in (yes, I live in the US of A) and the initials of my high school. I just had to put that in. Seriously, though, all of the teachers must hate ERHS if they're moving to SPHS. I don't own Mrs. Doerry either. She's my brother's German teacher.**

**I don't know much about AP Chem because I haven't taken it yet, though hopefully I'll get in next year, so sorry if the details are a little off, or just vague in general.**

**Anyway, finals are next week! AUGH! Wednesday and Thursday, to be exact, so I don't know if I'll have time to update between now and then or not. Envy will be all emo again next chapter, and for some reason he's easier to write than Ed, so we'll see about that. But anyway, my belated b-day party is on Friday, but then I'm free! So we'll have some faster updates then, eh?**

**Whoops, almost forgot! Does anyone have any ideas for what Ed's (or Envy's for that matter) favorite band could be? 'Cause I'm drawing a blank. Lame music listener that I am, I usually listen to classical stuff, and I have a feeling that that doesn't exactly "jive" with either of them. Sigh. So I'd really appreciate your input!**

**Thanks so much for reading this far! I HEART YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!!**


	5. Chapter 5Envy

**Hello again! I'm sorry this took forever to upload, but now that school's done things will come along a lot faster! YES! Today was officially my last day of school! (And I think I managed to pass my classes with my 4.0 intact, too...) I don't have to get up tomorrow (cheers wildly) so I'm putting this up at one o'clock in the morning. I felt bad for not giving this to you sooner, so here's (drumroll) chapter five!**

**THANK YOU X 10 GOOGLE TO ALL OF MY REVIEWERS! You guys make my day! I'm so glad that you people helped me out with Ed and Envy's music choices, too, otherwise I would've been _so_ lost. And so, everyone give a giant round of applause to kitsuke-chan for giving me Ed's favorite band (Disturbed), Mirazen for Envy's fave (30 Seconds to Mars), and elmokillyew for Envy's runner-up (and Ed's too-- that'll probably be a conversation later), Linkin Park. Thank you guys so much for helping me out!**

**Anyways, just as a note, I didn't have any of the older FMA books with me while writing this chapter, and I couldn't remember if Basque's last name was Grand or Gran, so I said it was Gran. Just FYI. Also, I know nothing about riding horses, so the bit at the end could be seriously flawed. Ah, well.**

**So anyway, this is another Emo Envy chapter, so we'll see how that goes. Next chapter is the biggie!**

**Disclaimer: Do I look like I own FMA to you? If I did, the original Greed wouldn't have died. He's totally kickass, much better than Greelin, who drives me nuts. Lin in general drives me nuts. ANYWAYS....**

**WARNING: do I really have to say this? BOY X BOY!!! Also, a bit of language in this one that I personally would find offensive. So does Envy, for that matter.**

**Enjoy!**

**_______________________________________________________________**

Five

Envy

For once, I seriously consider ditching Mr. Prnka's class. My entire body is in pain, not just my ragged heart. My bones hurt. My eyes are burning, even though I haven't cried. My head is throbbing. My stomach has twisted itself into knots. All I really want to do is lock myself in the bathroom and stay there for the rest of the day.

But I don't. And I don't know how.

I'm not even late to chemistry, though I don't remember time passing. I must have gone straight there from the library because I don't have my science things with me. I don't care enough to go back and get them, so I simply take my seat and busy myself trying to find lead for my pencil. This is pretty much the one class where I'm not marooned by myself in a back corner—Mr. Prnka stuck me in the middle between a girl who talks to her friend on her other side and a science nerd who thinks I'm insufferable. Join the club.

Then again, maybe I don't want the attention, because the one thing I hate about this class is the three jocks who won't leave me alone. Apparently they think it's "fun" to mock me and stand around my chair making up gossip _about_ me while pretending that I'm not there. I absolutely loathe them, and all the more so for being apparently resistant to the acidic diatribes I hurl back at them. Though this may be because that they don't understand half the words is beside the point.

The Three Musketeers used to sit behind me, but thankfully Mr. Prnka noticed that they would yank on my ponytail and try to distract me all throughout class, and he finally moved them to the opposite side of the room. Unfortunately, we're doing a lab today, and I've been stuck with them as lab partners since the beginning of the year. Damn it.

Since Mr. Prnka gave us the lab sheets yesterday, I have no valid reason to delay. I drag myself from my seat, wondering if maybe I should "accidentally" trip over a chair leg and break something so I can go home. The problem is that I really hate pain, as I might have mentioned earlier. The science nerd has already gone to join his group and the girl hers. I sigh and lug my protesting body unwillingly toward the hexagonal lab table in the back right corner of the classroom.

The three of them are already there, as usual. The shortest and skinniest one—he's about my height—has long hair for a guy and like me has it in a ponytail. However, his hair is thin and stringy. It's a mistake to let Kimblee anywhere near chemicals that have even the remotest possibility of being explosive, and even his two friends know that, so he's stuffed in the corner, looking sullen.

The other two are bigger than Kimblee and I put together, especially the monster of the group. He's as tall as Armstrong, this weird guy in my grade who's at least seven feet tall, cries a lot, and strangely emits pink sparkles most of the time. Basque Gran even has the muscles to match, so all in all it's like he's a darker twin of the only male Armstrong. He's the star linebacker on our football team or something like that.

The third member is the ringleader of the gang. He's shorter than Gran, but he has some seriously toned muscles and a tattoo on his right arm, which seems like a weird place to put one to me. Nobody can pronounce his name except him, so everyone just calls him Scar because of the large X-shaped scar on his face. The local gossip mill churned out a rumor that he did it himself with his dad's hunting knife. I don't know what you could hunt in our region of Montana, but there you go.

I arrive, wary, and set my lab packet and ordinary pencil on the table. I couldn't find the lead for my mechanical one. Scar immediately sidles over and elbows me in the ribs hard enough to leave a bruise. I suck in a breath; his elbow is _sharp_.

"About time you got here, faggot," he says. "We've been waiting for you to start the experiment."

"Watch out, though, he could contaminate the vials," Gran warns leisurely, leaning against the back wall. "That could mess with our _results_." Kimblee chuckles.

I shoot them all a vicious glare, the most I can manage under the circumstances. I _hate_ the word faggot, but my head hurts too much to think of a suitable retort. This is going to be a long class period.

Sure enough, I'm right. Only Gran will actually help with the experiments because nobody's stupid enough to let Kimblee anywhere near them and Scar thinks he's too cool to do schoolwork. About the only thing he does is go on long "hunting trips" with his dad every so often. I honestly think he's an international terrorist, because bombings are always reported just before he gets back, and he's always extra-smug afterwards. With luck he'll mess up on making a bomb and blow himself and his dad to pieces.

At least nothing goes wrong with this lab, though Mr. Prnka keeps one eye on us at all times. I don't blame him. One time Gran almost burned his eye out when he started waving some acid around. Idiot. The only thing malfunctioning this time is the fact that, with only two of us working and only one (me) with actually any clue what he's doing, we're still not done two minutes before the bell's due to ring.

We aren't the only ones, thank goodness. The girl that sits next to me and her friends aren't having much luck either, but still. It's kind of embarrassing to be one of two groups struggling to get a simple lab done. Sigh.

"Screw this," Scar says suddenly, thirty seconds before the bell's due to ring. "I'm not cleaning this trash up. Let's go, Gran, Kimblee."

"Hey, I have a bus to catch!" I protest, quite possibly the stupidest thing I've done out of this whole day of stupid things. "_You_ guys drive."

The bell rings.

"Like I care whether or not you catch your friggin' bus, homo," Scar spits over the noises of people gathering their stuff and heading for the door. He grabs me by the shoulders and throws me back against the counter. The edge slams hard against the knobs of my spine, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. He turns away as though I don't exist, wiping his hands on his jeans like they're somehow contaminated, and walks out the door, Gran and Kimblee following.

A moment later, I realize that I've bitten clean through my lip and that I'm fighting back tears. Mr. Prnka's talking to someone freaking out over their grade, and everyone else has left. I take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself down, tasting the metallic tang of blood on my tongue. I focus on dumping out the hot water and putting away the metal so I won't cry. Damn it! I'm not usually this emotional. Good grief. You'd think I am some sort of teenage girl… well, okay. Close enough.

I keep my head down when I grab my stuff, not bothering to put it away properly, and almost run out the door. If either the teacher or the girl spazzing about her ninety-eight-point-two look at me strangely, I don't notice it.

I sprint to my locker because I don't know what time the buses leave and the halls are starting to empty. I grab everything I think I'll need, don't bother with getting rid of my chem. things, and then head straight down the stairs and out the doors. I don't feel better, necessarily, but my eyes aren't prickling as much when I don't think. It's easier to focus on the moment.

When I finally reach the bus, it's almost full, so I have to take a seat in the middle. My dear brother, Wrath, is sitting with Lee, surrounded by a batch of giggling girls, obviously basking in the attention. I'm able to be slightly glad that I'm not in the midst of that and try to organize all of the things in my arms and crammed in my bag. It's nearly impossible, but that's good. It means I don't have time to think about everything that went wrong today. It's around then that I realize that I brought my European history book home when I didn't need to. Wonderful. Now I'll break my back on a book I didn't even need to bring, just to top off the worst day in history. I can probably apply for a Guinness World Record for that one.

Well, so much for not thinking about it. I stare down at my calculus book blankly, not really seeing it. The buses left the school some time ago and I didn't notice, but the bus isn't so full that someone has to sit next to me. I think I scare people, or something, because they do some seriously weird stuff to avoid coming in close contact. One time, on a school field trip, the last kid to climb on the bus had a choice of a seat beside me or one beside his worst enemy. He chose the enemy.

I'm so dead. That project with Ed is going to kill me. He really, really doesn't like me, and I don't know what to do about it. All I know for sure is that I won't be able to stand it.

No! I can't think about that. Resolutely, I yank my iPod out of my bag and stick in the earphones. I'll drown out my thoughts. That should work. I scroll through the bands, vacillating between 30 Seconds to Mars and Linkin Park. Finally, I settle for 30 STM and select the song "The Kill," turning it up to full blast. I know it's supposed to damage your ears or whatever, but at this point hearing loss is the least of my problems. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the seat, trying to let the blaring song drown out everything in my head.

I must fall asleep, because the next thing I know Wrath's shaking me, saying something that I can't hear over the music. Blinking, dazed, I look around and see that the bus is empty except for us. I hastily turn my iPod off and content myself with wrapping the headphone cord around it while I follow Wrath off. The bus driver gives me a strange look when I slip past him, but I ignore it.

It drives away with a spray of rocks and dust. I cough and slide the music player back into my bag. Wrath's already on his way up to our house, and I follow slowly, unwilling to enter the massive structure.

Like just about every house here, our place is white, except for the shingles, which are a light grey. The front steps are wooden and the only thing unpainted. For some reason, my wonderful mother Dante never got around to hiring anyone to paint it.

The front door is white with an oval window in it, and Wrath's already disappeared inside before I'm halfway up the dirt driveway. There's a six-car garage at the end of it, with places for the following: Greed's motorcycle, Lust's Ferrari, and Dante's Mercedes limo thing. Pride's black BMW lives in the fourth spot, Gluttony's red pickup in the fifth, and Sloth's little nondescript brown sedan in the sixth. Neither Wrath nor I have a vehicle, and I don't even know how to drive. Dante says she'll get us each something when we go off to college, and that's a promise you can actually hold her to.

The garage is separated from the main house by a wide enough drive to back up a horse trailer through. Our house itself is five stories tall with an attic on top. It looks like your typical Hollywood-movie ranch house, blown up to three times its original proportions. Yeah, so Dante's filthy rich and can't live in a house that doesn't have an elevator, a dumbwaiter system, an intercom, and at least four floors. At least it gave the eight of us plenty of room to spread out when we all lived here. After Lust and Greed leave, though, there'll just be three, and the place will seem huge and empty.

Behind the house and the garage is my personal favorite place on this whole planet. The stables are big, too, and house our herd of thirty horses, including five racehorses and some draft ones too. They're usually out in the pasture at this time of day. I promise myself that I'll go visit mine once I drop my stuff off. Demeter somehow always makes me feel better.

I walk up the steps and lean on the door to make it open. Wrath managed not to forget to keep it unlocked, so I don't have to dig through the black hole that is my backpack to find my keys. I kick off my shoes at the door like I'm supposed to but rarely do, and head straight for the stairs.

My room is on the fifth floor, at the very top, right by the steps for the attic. I don't care. Up here, I can mostly ignore Dante's screaming tantrums. I nudge my door open and dump my backpack on my bed.

Despite what you might think (with my backpack and locker as the best places in the school to lose things), my room looks like someone with a severe case of OCD got to it. I pretty much live in here when I'm not in school, so I can't stand for it to be messy. It just bothers me.

As soon as I'm relieved of my heavy burden, I turn right back around and head back out and down the stairs. I can't do my homework now. I can't let myself think.

In the living room, Lust is watching some cop procedural drama on one of our plasma flat screen TVs. Greed and Wrath are in the kitchen, eating some kind of foreign food that looks nigh inedible.

"So Wrath was telling me you fell asleep on the bus," Greed calls through a mouthful of food. "I hope you're not too tired, you neglected to do the laundry yesterday."

I don't look at him as I snatch a key ring and a hair band out of a small pot by the telephone. "I'm going out for a ride. See you in an hour or two." I snap the tie around my wrist and head for the door, quickly pulling on my pair of riding boots.

"Envy?" Greed shouts after me, but closing the door behind me cuts him off.

I comb through my hair with my fingers as I head towards the pasture, gathering the dissident strands at the end of my ponytail into one clump. I wrap the elastic band around them to hold them in place, so my hair doesn't go all the way down my back; instead, it loops back up about halfway down my spine to tuck back under at the base of my skull. Experience has taught me that this is the best way to keep my untamable hair more or less under control.

I lean against the wooden fence of the pasture and put my fingers to my lips, blowing out two sharp whistles. An answering whinny sounds and Demeter bolts from her small herd and comes to the gate, snorting and carrying on. I smile slightly as I wrap my fingers in her mane and lead her out, back towards the stables.

Demeter, at first glance, appears to be your average brown horse. She has a white stripe down her nose, a white sock on her left rear hoof, and a white stocking on her right front leg. I think she's the best horse in the world. She's smart and friendly and, like Tanya, can scare the hell out of any horse she wants to. If Demeter were a person, she and Tanya would rule the world.

She knows the routine by now, and so she stands there quietly while I saddle her up, making sure the straps are good and tight so I won't fall off. I did that once, when I was littler, on a pony. I learned quickly.

It doesn't take me more than ten minutes to get Demeter ready and grab a hat for myself. I stopped riding with helmets years ago (though I probably shouldn't have), but I'll get sunburned if I don't have a hat. I like my complexion the way it is, thanks ever so much. I'm tall enough that I can swing on without a mounting block, though only just, and then we're off, out the back door and into the open tracks of land.

Demeter loves to run. She could've been a racehorse, I think; so I let her have her head and just hung on, glad that the wind wiped my mind cleaner than a slate.

We end up on a little hillock that overlooks the grassy plains leading up to the mountains in the distance. I brought a picket with me, so I hook her reins up to that and let her graze while I wander over to the hill and sit down cross-legged in the grass.

The sun tries to beat down on my face, but the hat successfully deflects the rays. I hardly notice, plucking absently at the long stalks of grass.

With nothing left to distract me, my thoughts turn, as always, to Ed. My chest gives a painful twinge and I press my palm to it, like that'll help hold it in. This agony didn't used to exist. It's been building up over the years, though, and if I'm being honest with myself I don't think that I can hold it in much longer. It's going to burst out somehow, and for some strange reason I don't think that'll be good.

I don't even realize that those tears I fought back have broken free until my breath hitches. Surprised, I brush the back of my hand against my cheek, feeling the dampness there. I hug my legs to my chest and bury my face in my knees, struggling half-heartedly against the sobs.

Some time later—I have no idea how much, I don't own a watch—I'm curled up on my side in the grass, still tightly wrapped together so I won't fall apart. I'm trying to slow down my heartbeat by breathing slowly when I hear another set of hoofbeats and Demeter's soft "welcome" nicker. Shit. Someone's come to check up on me. I tear my hair out of the two bands and use it to cover my face. I play with the hair ties, rolling them between my fingers, as whomever it is walks down the hill and sits down beside me with a grunt. Greed.

"I can see why you like it here," he says appreciatively. I can't see him because my back is to him, but I can imagine that greedy look he gets in his eye whenever he sees something beautiful. Let it never be said that Dante messed up naming us. She got it right. "The mountains make a good fringe around the horizon. Do you think I could buy this land from the United States and make it my own country?"

I don't reply to his ridiculous question, just continue plucking at the elastic bands. He's trying to get me to talk.

The Twins and I are only a year apart in age, so we've always been close, much closer than I am with Wrath. Thus, it's the policy of the entire family that whenever I show signs of depression one of the Twins gets sent out to figure out what's wrong. Lust must have thought that Greed could do a better job of making me chatter than she could. Ha. I can have a mouth like a locked trap when I really want to. He can't get anything out of me. I have the right to remain silent.

Greed sighs and reaches out to rub my back. I stiffen at the touch, and he exhales again. "I'm not going to hurt you, Envy." He tugs at a strand of my hair. "Good grief, kid, you're a mess. What happened?"

I shrug and continue fiddling with the hair bands.

My brother groans in irritation and leans over to take them from me. I don't even try to steal them back, which was undoubtedly what he had hoped for; instead, I turn to tugging at my bangs, looking at them critically. Unless he wants to rip my hair from my head, he can't stop me from doing _that_.

Greed sighs once more and, suddenly, he's sitting in front of me. I look up at him, surprised. His face is unusually serious, and I can't see his trademark round sunglasses anywhere.

"This is ripping you apart," he says bluntly. I blink, then decide to shrug again. Hey, it's not his problem.

His eyebrows furrow and he grabs my wrists, holding them still so I can't ignore him any longer. "Look, Envy, this _isn't healthy_. You aren't going to last like this." He seems genuinely frightened at that last part. Damn. Apparently I haven't been as good at hiding my growing pain as I thought.

"Says who?" I mumble, too busy trying to placate him to remember that my mouth is locked tight. Well, too late now. "There's just this batch of jerks in my sci—"

"Envy, shut up," Greed orders brusquely. I'm too shocked to protest. "Lust and I agree that you need help. Even _Wrath_ noticed something's wrong, and he's an idiot."

I glare up at him. "I'm _not_ going to a shrink!"

He looks at me steadily, and I can see that he's deadly serious. My entire chest seems to sink. "You're going to do what Lust and I think is the right thing. You're getting worse. We aren't just going to stand around while you kill yourself with this."

"I'm not going to _die._" I try to say it scathingly, but somehow it doesn't come out quite right.

"Yeah, you are. If not physically, than psychologically at least."

"You can't make me do it."

"Not at the moment," Greed agrees. "But as soon as Lust and I get back from Europe, off you go. We're giving you this last chance to fix it yourself. But believe me when I say that if we hear that _anything_ has changed we are coming straight back and putting you in a hospital. Do you understand?"

I'm stunned. He's serious. I can't show any weakness, then, at home, where Wrath might notice. I heave a mental sigh. I might as well check myself into the hospital ahead of time. I won't be able to hide that. Greed's right in that it's just going to get worse, but I know that a psychologist won't help. My heart picked someone a long time ago and its little mind can't be changed. Besides, this is all my fault that Ed hates me, anyway. It's my fault for being the way I am.

"Envy, _do you understand?_"

I nod. He sighs in relief. "Good." Suddenly, he's smiling again and bouncing to his feet, heaving me after him. I'm reeling at the speed of it. And people say that _I_ can be bipolar. "Come on. You have laundry to finish, and I have girls to daydream about. I'll race you back."

Demeter's glad to have someone she can beat, but I think Greed let me win. All I can say is thank goodness Demeter knows the ranch as well as she does, because I didn't have time to tie my hair back and so it got everywhere, including, of course, in my eyes. Demeter looks very pleased with herself when we arrive, breathless, back at the stable. It takes another twenty minutes to rub both horses down and put them back out in the pasture.

Greed heads straight for Lust as I slip past and back up to my room, where I lock myself in. They can plot against me all they want, but I'm going to plot back. They won't find anything that will make them move me.

I remember to get started on the laundry when I'm ten problems into the calculus homework. For some reason, Dante hires people to cook the food, clean the house, take care of the horses, etc., except that she makes her children do all of the laundry. I have no idea why. Anyway, that involves going down to the third floor and back up again for five loads of clothing. Wonderful.

I sigh and collapse back in my chair, resting my chin on my hands, staring blankly out the window. Tomorrow I will be so sunk. Lust and Greed will probably ship me off to the hospital before they leave, at the rate this is going.

"The universe hates me," I mutter.

I close my eyes and make up a dream that I know will hurt me later. I pretend that everything's the way I wish it were. I imagine that my beloved Ed is coming to dinner and Dante's away so we don't have to deal with her. My heart gives another throb like it's about to shatter into a billion sharp pieces.

My eyes snap open and I snatch up my iPod. Pressing PLAY where I left off, I force the blaring music to knock my thoughts out so I can't think them anymore.

**____________________________________________________**

**Okie dokie then. Also, I forgot to mention, but my Montana could be completely different from the Montana that actually exists. I've never actually been there, so....**

**I'm sorry if anyone out there likes Scar or Gran or Kimblee. Personally, I actually like Scar, but I needed three bullies and he was the first one I thought of, and I didn't have enough people to reject him. Gran was totally random and I had to keep him because I only had Scar and Kimblee and I couldn't think of anyone else. So if anyone thinks it's weird that he's in there, that's why.**

**You know how your eyes burn after you've cried? We were watching October Sky tonight, which is an awesome movie, and I must've bawled three times. I know how Envy feels. Jeesh.**

**Anyways, my birthday party is tomorrow, so expect the next (pivotal) chapter up sometime this weekend. I have all the time in the world now! (laughs insanely)**

**Review, please! And once again THANK YOU TEN KRILLION TIMES!**


	6. Chapter 6Ed

**HERE IT IS!!! Yay! Chapter Six, and the beginning of the REAL plot! (cackles) I'm very pleased that I got this one finished as fast as I did; I was having some serious writer's block in the middle there. And sorry if everything seems to be going super fast, but I got sick of lingering on the school day. Ha. Take that.**

**Anyways, this might have been up even earlier, but I stayed up until past one last night watching my third movie in a row with my friends. I swear that's the most movies I've ever watched in one day. Anyway, after they all had to go home, my mom dragged me around town to get a new pair of shoes, a backpack, a water bottle, and take my dress to the seamstress' to get it hemmed so I'm not drowning in it. See, I used to wear it with these really high heels, but they just about murdered my feet last time, so we got a pair of flats instead and the dress had to lose about an inch and a half.**

**But anyway, I got back and saw how many reviews this story has, and I totally went through the ceiling! 32 ALREADY? I'm stunned. Really, really stunned. I'm so glad you guys like this story! I'm also glad (in a weird, sort of sadistic way) that I can make you feel poor Envy's pain. He needs a support group to remind him of all the fangirls he has. I'll join. Anyways, as always, THANK YOU GUYS A MILLION FOR YOUR KIND REVIEWS! And if you see anything wrong, feel free to FLAME me! I won't mind. I just feel loved that you care enough to review in the first place.**

**Disclaimer: I forgot to mention this last chapter, but I don't own 30 Seconds to Mars or Linkin Park or Disturbed. I don't own FMA either, which makes me sad every day.**

**WARNING: Y.A.O.I. Need I spell it out again? Also, this chapter includes some language, when Ed loses his temper at an inanimate object. Don't ask.**

**Anybody notice how these author's notes keep getting longer and longer? Anyway, here's chapter six, I hope you enjoy it!**

**_________________________________________________________________________**

Six

Ed

_Buzz._

_Buzz. Buzz._

_Buzz. Buzz. BUZZ. BUZZBUZZBUZZCRASH._

I grunt in satisfaction and let my head and arm fall back onto my mattress. My poor battered alarm clock sputtered weakly one last time before falling silent at the base of the wall. Stupid thing. I hate waking up early. Let's just say I'm not a morning person and leave it at that.

Unfortunately, I don't have time to capitalize on my success against the alarm clock and fall asleep again, because barely a minute later my door bangs open and Al charges in, holding his toothbrush like a knife.

"Ed, UP!"

I grumble something incoherent and pull the covers over my head. Al grabs them, yanks them back, and turns on the lamp on my bedside table. I yelp at the intrusion of light into my night-attuned eyes.

"Brother, you don't have time to laze about," Al admonishes. "Get up now before I go get a cup of water."

I reluctantly roll off the bed. Three years ago, I made the mistake of not moving when Al threatened to douse me with water, and quickly found out that he was serious. I'm not stupid enough to try it twice.

Al nods once and walks out, turning on the ceiling light on his way into the hallway. He leaves the door open. I drag myself to my feet and stumble to my dresser, intent on finding clothes.

Somehow, I make it into the shower, and the blast of cold water brings me to my senses with a jolt. Considerably more awake—actually bordering on alert—I turn the water to HOT and break out the shampoo.

Ten minutes later, I walk out of the bathroom, dressed and dry. A serious head-to-towel session took care of the hair. I braid it automatically and snap a tie on the end as I pound down the stairs and beeline for the kitchen.

Unless Al feels like making pancakes or something, which he rarely does anymore, I'm stuck with cereal. A bowl of Cheerios can go a long way, though, and I in fact inhale two before going back to my room to pack my bag.

Once again, I find myself fretting over the history project while I stuff my books into my backpack, shaking it occasionally to make sure they're all stable. It's too big to do all by myself, but I can't think of any other way to pull it off. I won't get any help to begin with, and Al _did_ say that he would help me….

Hey, at least today's Friday, _and_ I'm a senior. I won't have to put up with this crap much longer.

Feeling slightly better, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and stumble down the stairs. Al's already at the door, tying his shoes, and I stuff my feet into my sneakers before leading the way into the garage. Once again my bag gets heaved into the trunk; Al hops into the passenger seat like usual, humming softly to himself. I press the button that makes the garage door open and back out carefully, even though no one's on the road.

I fiddle absently with the radio as we cruise down the way, past Winry's house, and towards town. I pass through all of my favorite stations and stop when I stumble across one that's playing a song by my favorite band, Disturbed. Al rolls his eyes as I sing along under my breath. He doesn't hate my music, exactly; it's just that he's more into Debussy and Mozart.

We're early enough that we can grab a good spot by a tree. I snatch my bag from the trunk before locking the doors and running to catch up to my little brother.

"Hey, Al! Ed!"

We both turn and are immediately engulfed by a bouncing head of blonde hair. I manage to disengage myself and take a step back. I swear, Al's friends have no sense of personal space, but at least I know this one.

Fletcher hops back, grinning from ear to ear. He's exactly as tall as I am, which kind of frightens me, because he's still growing. Sometimes I despair at ever seeing the world from the other side of five feet five inches, and it doesn't help when middle schoolers tend to be taller than I am. Fletcher's a year younger than Al and so in sophomore year, but I still don't think it's fair.

"Yo, Elrics," Russell says lazily, waving one hand. He and Fletcher are like Al and I—pretty much inseparable. "Welcome to another day of Tortureville."

"School isn't that bad, Russ," Fletcher pipes up anxiously. I swear that he's so much like Al that I start thinking that maybe scientists cloned Al's personality and stuck it in another body. "Besides, it's a Friday."

"We're in the way," I remind them, gesturing around us. The stream of students coming from the buses are being forced to split to avoid running into our little knot of bodies. "Let's head somewhere else and talk about this."

"Fletcher and I have to go talk to his science teacher," Al tells me.

"Fine, then Ed and I'll go bug Roy or something," Russell says. "C'mon, shorty."

"WHO'RE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HE CAN GET CRUSHED BY A BEAKER?"

"Ed, calm down," Russell orders, towing me after him down a hallway and away from staring students. It takes me a second to realize, incensed as I am, that we're heading towards my locker. I'm relieved. This backpack is way too heavy.

"I can't 'calm down,'" I grumble under my breath as we step over the legs of those goddamn idiots who insist on narrowing the walking space to six inches. "I have to defend my honor from people like you who insist on belittling it."

"I think you just like overreacting," Russell states. I put in the combination on the lock and pop it open, unzipping my bag and shoving everything onto the shelves. I hang it up and pick up my things for first hour, Government, and follow Russell across the way to his locker.

Roy and Riza are already there, leaning against Russell's locker, Roy tossing a bouncy ball from hand to hand. Riza snatches it from him just as we arrive and puts it away with an irritated look on her face.

"C'mon, Riza!" Roy whines. "I wasn't doing anything! Honest!"

"Sorry, the ball's off limits," she says, maniacally cheerful, as she pulls a slingshot from her pocket. Roy gulps.

"Where did you get that?" I ask in amazement, pointing at it. Riza's on the archery club, but we have all consoled ourselves with the knowledge that there isn't a bow small enough for her to carry around with her all day without the teacher's noticing.

"Workshop," she replies wickedly.

"Roy, I'd leave the ball alone if I were you," Russell advises seriously, scooping up his Spanish things and slamming the door shut. Roy sighs.

We wander aimlessly around the school for the last ten minutes of free time, all of us guys careful not to upset Riza in the least lest we should get a rock to the back of the head. She has this knowing smirk on her lips the entire time, like she knows exactly what we're doing. Hell, she probably does.

The bell rings, sending us off to our various first hours. I really hate Government, mostly because it's dead boring, but at least it's pretty much a free "A". I can't believe people who somehow manage to flunk that class. It should be physically impossible; in fact, I think it's harder to _fail_ than to _pass_. You have to be really determined to get "F"s to flunk Government.

I turn in the homework when I walk in and resign myself to another fifty-five minutes of Chinese Water Torture. I end up pulling out a spare piece of paper and doodling on the edges. By the time class wraps up, I've drawn a porcupine, a pencil, three different clocks, a bunch of swirl-filled clouds, and a pair of dark eyes. I frown at that last one, unable to shake the feeling that they're somehow vaguely familiar. I stuff the paper in the back of my binder and leave class with the rest, relieved that it's over.

In Language Arts, we're finally getting a start on _Hamlet_. Mrs. Thompson gives us time to start reading the first act, which I'm glad for, because to answer the questions she gave us we'll all have to read the thing at least three times. It'll be twice as hard because next week we're starting on another unit, and reading _Hamlet_ on the side. So, basically, this is something else that'll be spread out until near the end of the year. Fun.

The clock seems to be speeding up at an obscene rate. Before I know it, math is over with, and I'm on my way to lunch with Roy and Russell. A small mock "fight" in my hallway gets us stuck in traffic until the offenders are removed to the vice principle's office.

"I wouldn't want to be them," Roy mutters under his breath as the jam of people finally starts to move again, whispering amongst itself.

"Mrs. Curtis is really scary," Russell agrees.

I shrug. "She's not that bad." Izumi Curtis and her husband are my neighbors on my other side. She helped take care of Al and I when mom died and dad-the-bastard left us. We still see her on the weekends, and most of the time Winry comes with us.

"Yeah, well, you _know_ her," Roy reminds me.

"Teacher's pet," Russell mock-grumbles. I punch his arm, and he pulls back, laughing and wincing at the same time, rubbing at his skin. "Ow! I think you bruised me."

I stick my tongue out childishly. "Deal with it, Tringham."

We arrive in the cafeteria and barely have fifteen minutes to eat our food. It seems like seconds later that the bell's ringing and we're all rushing off again. I'm beginning to suspect that the clock is conspiring against me. Just watch—when I get to fifth hour, it'll go so slowly that I'll scream.

Physics goes by so fast that it's like I blink and it's over. I can't even remember what we talked about. That's probably not good, but I don't have time to dwell on it. A sign on Mr. Richards' door announces that we're meeting down in the library, and I get there in the nick of time. I glance around, hoping that this class, too, will go by in the blink of an eye, to find that my partner isn't here.

My body has the weirdest reaction to this. My stomach leaps and my heart sinks, making me feel decidedly sick. Touching my temple gingerly with two fingers, I sit down woozily at one of the tables with a computer as chatter begins to fill the large room. This can't be all that bad. Sure, Envy's not here, but that doesn't mean anything. He wouldn't do a thing anyways.

A strange thought occurs to me. I wonder why I haven't noticed that he isn't here earlier. Surely I would have noticed when he said nothing in AP Lang or AP Calc. How strange. I suppose it must have been because the stupid clock was set on going as fast as it possibly can.

The sound of the library doors banging open interrupts my mental abuse of the school clocks, and everyone in the library automatically glances over. It's Envy, breathless, one hand clutching a stitch in his side. A few people snigger, but he ignores them, stepping past the detector things that can tell when you haven't checked out a book and into the main room itself. Two people converge on him instantly—that librarian, Tanya, looking anxious, and Mr. Richards, who seems delighted to have a reason to scold my partner.

As for me, my body has once again done some strange stuff. My stomach is now through the floor, and my heart is pounding in my throat. I cough lightly in an attempt to dislodge it and set my history things aside so I can log into the computer. All the same, because of my close proximity to the door, I can't help but strain to overhear the whispered conversation going on between Tanya, Mr. Richards, and Envy.

"—look, I'm sorry, but I got held back by Mr. Warren," Envy is saying, his voice strained.

"If that were the case, he would have given you a hall pass," Mr. Richards snaps. "This makes three tardies this semester, Mr. Bradley, and as per the school rules that means you get a detention. This Monday, my classroom, at lunch."

"But—!"

"No more excuses. Each time, they get more pathetic."

"Give the boy a break, Mr. Richards!" Tanya inserts heatedly. "I don't see how hard it is just to call Bob up and ask him if Envy was in fact with him."

"You are not his teacher," Mr. Richards says coldly. "Thank you for the advice, Ms. Howard, but this is not your class, and nor are you his parents. If his mother has a problem with this, she may call me up. Now, Envy, go find your partner and try as hard as you possibly can to stay out of his way."

I hear receding footsteps and gather that the teacher has walked away, and a moment later I catch him speaking in a low voice to someone else, confirming this.

"Are you all right?" Tanya asks in a low voice. I can hear the worry in her tone. "You weren't here at lunch." Whatever that's supposed to mean.

"Fine," Envy says shortly. "I just got a lot of homework, so I was trying to get a head start on it." He's lying. I don't know how I'm so positive—all I can say for sure is that every word he just said was a lie.

Tanya sighs, and I listen harder, sure she's going to try to get the truth out of him. Instead, I'm surprised when Envy appears in front of me and slams his bag down on the table, sitting down almost gingerly. He's gritting his teeth, pale face slightly pink, but from what I can't tell. I click on the internet link and wait for it to load.

Just as I'm bending down to grab some paper from my binder, Envy stands just as abruptly as he appeared and vanishes. I shake my head, exhale sharply in exasperation, and tear out a piece of notebook paper with more force than strictly necessary. Something about that kid just rubs me the wrong way.

Like I had expected earlier, this hour creeps by, each minute seeming to take an hour and a half to pass. There's so much information on the first crusade that I'm already starting to select only certain bits because I can't write it all down. Where Envy's gone to, I have no idea. I wish someone, anyone, would come so I would someone to talk to.

A thought strikes me out of the blue, and I stiffen, suddenly very frightened. There's no possible way that I can pull this project off by myself, not even with Al's help, because at the end we have to present it to the class, and if Envy has nothing to contribute then the whole thing gets graded down. He's going to pull me down with him and there's not a thing I can do about it. Plus, I don't have the time to do all the research and put together a presentation all alone.

I grind my teeth together and smack myself in the forehead with the heel of my hand. The only way, and I mean the _only_ way, for me to get the required grade on this is if Envy pitches in. Somehow, I have to impress upon him just how serious this is. But how?

_Ding, ding, ding._

Shit! The hour's already over? When did that happen? Fucking clocks! Frantic, I hastily log off the computer and grab my things, heading out the door. I glance back just once to check that the computer is back at the log-in screen and see that Envy still hasn't returned. Before I can go back and maybe use his backpack to bribe him into participating, Tanya appears and picks it up, expression determined. Well, it seems like I'm not the only one trying to get something out of Envy. He's so irritating. With a sigh, I turn around and head for Mr. Prnka's class.

Envy arrives seconds before the bell this time, once more out of breath, one hand holding his bag and the other clenched into a fist so tight that his knuckles are even whiter than normal. It's hard to tell, but I'd say that he's not having the best day ever.

Chemisty goes by in a blur, but at least it is easy. All we're doing is going over the lab and what we should have gotten. I finish the prelab questions and basically lounge around all hour, trying to figure out how I'm supposed to tell Envy that he'd better help me or else. I still haven't figured it out when the bell rings to send us all home. It's only after I've already walked out the door that I realize that I have no idea how he gets home. Shit.

I sprint to my locker and ditch my chemistry things, not bother to grab my backpack as I dart through the crowd towards the buses. I've never seen him with car keys, and everyone knows that when his older siblings Lust and Greed went here they drove a Ferrari and a BMW motorcycle respectively. Obviously, his mom is filthy rich, and since there are no more Ferraris in the parking lot, I'd say it's safe to say he doesn't drive.

I plunge into the crowd of people, looking around frantically. If he's already left I'm going to hit something. It's the weekend, and I won't be able to contact him again until Monday, when it might be already too late. Shit!

And then I spot him. He's standing about fifteen feet in front of the line of buses, talking to another kid with seriously bushy black hair who's slightly taller than he is. _At least I'm not the only older brother with a huge little brother,_ I think, absurdly, and then I'm off to talk to him before he can leave.

His little brother, Wrath, is talking when I arrive, panting slightly. "I don't think it's all that bad, just—"

"Can I talk to you?" I break in. Envy looks over at me with complete shock on his face. Color drains from his already white face before flooding back, brighter than before.

"Um—sure," he stutters. I grab his arm without waiting for more and tow him out of the crowd and behind a crook in the building, out of sight. I turn to face him. Suddenly, my reasons for coming seem incredibly stupid.

"I just wanted to let you know that even if we agreed to work together, I'm _not_ doing the whole project," I blurt out, probably too fast for him to understand. "I don't have time."

Some emotion—hurt?—flashes across his face almost too quickly for me to catch. "I'll hold up my end," he says quietly.

"I'm counting on you," I warn him. "Don't let me down."

"I won't," he promises, more quietly still, looking down at the ground. I am startled slightly—this isn't the Envy I have seen from afar. The Envy I know would have made some stupid comment and left by now. He didn't say much at the library, either, I recall suddenly. He seems shy, unexpectedly so.

"Oh. Um, okay. That's good," I stammer. God, I feel like such a moron. What a stupid thing to tell somebody, especially if you don't really know them that well. "It's just, well, this is senior year, you know, and I really want to go to Stanford or Oxford or something like that, so I can't have one bad grade mess me up." I am babbling, I know, but I can't seem to stop.

Envy looks at me with the strangest expression in his eyes. It's like some kind of mix of pain and horror and despair, though his face is perfectly blank. I blink at him, startled, and suddenly I notice that there are flecks of dark purple among the amethyst. There are dark shadows beneath his eyes like he hasn't slept well recently. And—wonderful moment for my gayness to kick in, especially with _Envy_—I see that he's really very cute. I'll probably have nightmares about that one to—

His hands cup my face and tilt it up, and before I even know what's happening, his lips are on mine.

_Oh. My. God._

He's delicious. Like a, I don't know, caramel apple or something. I gasp inadvertently, and he immediately starts to pull away.

My arms, which seem to have taken on a life of their own, stop him. The fingers of my left hand knot in his ponytail and yank his face back down to mine, while my other arm wraps around his neck. He kisses me in return, slender hands pressed against my back.

Holy shit. If I'd known anything could be so lovely, hot and cool at the same time, and just so very luscious, I'd have been there _years_ ago. That it is Envy doesn't bother me in the slightest. Suddenly it seems right, like I knew this all along, somehow. I want more and more and more, but my lungs are begging for air.

I break the kiss and immediately suck in oxygen. We're both breathing heavily. His hands are still on my back, and it's then that I realize we're pressed so tightly together not even a hydrogen atom could have squeezed between us. I am surprised at how well we fit together, with no gaps.

And then I remember that I just kissed him. _I_ kissed _Envy_, the one kid in the whole school I don't like. And I had enjoyed it immensely.

"You have to go or you'll miss your bus," I manage. I need to think about what just happened, and I'm having a hard time doing that with him right there.

"Oh. Right." He lets me go and carefully untangles my fingers from his hair. I blush bright red and remove my arm from around his neck. He looks at me, and then pulls me close for another kiss, crushing me to his chest. Then he's gone, and I stagger back a step, still red-faced.

I keep backing up until my back touches the wall, and then I slide down to the grass, cupping my head in my hands. I'm in a daze.

What the hell just happened?

**________________________________________**

**Ha ha HA! Take THAT, Ed! How many of you saw that coming? Hmm? I was so happy to stick that last scene on here that it's not even funny. (cackles) Now you guys can see why this chappie was so important! I can't wait for the next one... (rubs hands together like a mad scientist)**

**No, seriously, though, I'm glad that happened. I've had enough of Ed hating Envy. Mind you, just because they kissed doesn't mean it's over, exactly... ack, I'm not making any sense. Whatever.**

**I had something else I wanted to say down here, but I forgot what it was... oh, well.**

**THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed! Please tell me what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7Envy

**[Insert pirate laugh here] I did it! I finally finished this chapter! It wouldn't have been up today at all, likely, but I already had that bit of EnvyxEd action in the middle written out, as well as the last third of the chapter. So that's the only reason you're getting it this early. Next chapter will probably be harder... but we'll see.**

**Just as an aside, this chapter starts at the beginning of the day, before the whole kissing scene, so the first half is Envy being EXTREMELY angsty and emo and just plain depressed. I'm sure you can imagine afterwards, though... talk about bipolar.**

**Anyways, I don't actually have anything really to say here... except that my mom and I started packing for my trip to England today. I'm leaving on the 30th and I'll be gone for three weeks, but I think I'll be able to get a chapter or two in before I leave. I'm sorry I have to leave you guys, but I can't wait to go to Europe! Yippee!**

**On another note, I have OVER 40 REVIEWS?! (faints) I never expected that. I'm so glad you guys like this so much! It makes me feel so loved... and it emphasizes the wonders of Edvy goodness. Hee hee. Don't worry, tons of it is coming up.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own FMA, no matter how much I want to. I got a few Barnes and Noble gift cards for my birthday, though, so maybe soon I'll own a few of the books.**

**WARNING: boy x boy action in this chappie, peeps! Also, Envy has a really, really sucky day, so he uses the F-word a few times. I don't blame him. I probably would too, and I don't swear.**

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Seven

Envy

I had thought yesterday was bad. It is nothing compared to today.

To begin with, I wake up late with a throbbing headache—probably due in part to the blasting music of yesterday—and nearly miss my bus as a result. The bus driver, of course, gives me a weird look when I stumble on board, books half-falling out of my bag, a jumble of papers in my arms. I have a strong urge to flip him the bird, but my arms are full.

Wrath, too, looks at me strangely when I sit down, almost dropping half of my things. At least I know the reason for this one, and it makes my bad mood worse. Of course Lust and Greed already talked to Wrath about watching my mood. I consider losing it then and there to avoid a long drawn-out wait. The only reason I don't is because then I won't be able to see Ed. I _have_ to see Ed. If they think I'm a manic-depressive now, then they should remember what I'm like during the summers. It isn't pretty.

I use the excuse of organizing my things to avoid looking at my brother, and he seems to accept it, thank goodness. I hate it when Wrath has his rare, bi-annual moments of perception.

The bus fills up with the usual half-asleep teenagers, and we arrive at the school with two minutes to spare. I want to scream and hit something. Now I don't have time to go back to my locker and pick up my stuff for Theatre. Damn! I still have to practically sprint to get to the stupid theater on time, and of course that sets me up for a lecture for "forgetting" my things. I do have lots of things with me, just not the right things. I have the entire soliloquy memorized anyway, but these teachers just love scolding kids for not bringing everything they need to class.

I can already tell that today is going to top yesterday.

Sure enough, things don't go any better from there. Mrs. Thompson gives us time to read _Hamlet_, but I forgot the book at home. The only thing going my way is that she's too busy grading papers to go around and see if everyone has their copies, so I pull out _The Book Thief_ and try to get started on that, but I can't concentrate. My brain is choosing to act all ADD and refuses to focus on anything for very long. I want to slam my forehead onto my desk.

Eventually, I give up trying to read and shove the book back into my bag. I shove my hands in my pockets and lean my head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Of course, it's then, three seconds before the bell rings, that I realize I forgot to do my Government homework last night.

And what should we talk about today in math but… math. We've reached a hard section and so Mr. Holloway goes over it in class, and I have to pay attention, which leaves no time to finish (or even start) that goddamn Government stuff. Class is over too soon for me to understand the math stuff, too, and it's around then that I start wondering if I'd done something really, really awful in a past life and karma is out to get me. That would certainly explain a lot.

I can't face Tanya today. She'll want to talk to me about yesterday, and I won't have any answers for her. Besides, I have to see if I can finish that Government worksheet in time to turn it in.

So, instead of going to the library like I do every other day, I find a secluded corner of the school and look over the homework, trying to see if I can do it all without looking in the book. It's like the stupid thing is speaking in gibberish. What the hell? It almost looks like it's written in French… my heart sinks through the floor as I realize that it is, in fact, written in French. Somehow, a piece of Wrath's French homework got in my Government binder, and the actual worksheet, in English, isn't there.

I just sit there and stare at it, lacking even the will to stand and go elsewhere. My head is completely empty. Why couldn't it have been like this yesterday?

I slowly slide Wrath's French worksheet back into my folder and shut it, looking at the plain cover, taking very slow, deep breaths to push back those fucking tears.

_Why me?_ a small voice in the back of my head asks plaintively.

The bell signaling the end of lunch rings and I force myself to stand, trudging back towards my locker. I'm feeling so badly that my poor, neglected stomach doesn't even grumble. I haven't eaten, so I'll be starving by the time I get home. Oh, well.

As expected, Government is hell. I don't turn in the work, of course, and then my bad luck continues. Right in the middle of Mr. Warren's lecture, I fall asleep.

I've done this before, actually, but never quite so obviously. I've perfected the technique of sleeping with your head propped on your palm and your eyes open, so it looks like you're more or less paying attention. This time, I pillow my head on my arms and pretty much sleep like a rock.

My sleep is dreamless, thank goodness, but even so the ringing of the bell manages to intrude upon the wonderful darkness. My eyes open slowly, and through my bangs I can see the leg of Mr. Warren's trousers. Great.

I sit up and shove my bangs back, looking at my desk instead of him. I know he's here to talk to me.

"Sleeping in class?" he says disapprovingly. I don't answer. There's nothing to say. "And, if I'm not mistaken, you haven't turned in the last three assignments."

I shrug. Wrong move.

"Come with me, Mr. Bradley," Mr. Warren orders, his voice suddenly cold. Why is it that every time I get in trouble they start calling me by my last name? In any case, though, I pick up my bag and follow him. Students are already starting to come in, and they're giving us curious looks. Great. Just what I need.

"What is it?" I ask, voice neutral, dropping my bag by my foot while he settles himself in his chair. I glance at the clock automatically. I have two minutes to get to the library, and I don't have any of my things. Shit.

"Your behavior is unacceptable," Mr. Warren tells me, stern, his grey eyes freezing behind the glasses. "You are a citizen of the United States—"

"Actually, I'm not," I inform him, tone still disinterested. "I was born in New Zealand."

"Well, then, you'll take the test and become one," he snaps. "In any case, you need to understand how this country works. You _live_ here. Whether or not you can comprehend this or not, I don't know, but regardless I expect better behavior out of you, Envy. Just because your mother's rich doesn't mean you can do whatever you want."

The bell rings. I flinch at his words and glare at him. Dante may be rich, but she doesn't give a damn about any of us. Sometimes I wonder why she even bothered having me. I don't have time to say any of this, though, because he points at the door and says, "You can go now."

Still fuming, I stalk out, barely resisting the temptation to slam the door behind me. That would be disastrous.

As soon as I'm out of his line of sight, I break into a dead run, taking the stairs two at a time to get to my locker. I ditch my Government things and snatch up my AP Euro book and papers before sprinting for the first floor entrance to the library. Mr. Richards is going to scold me again, and Tanya's probably going to do the same for not coming at lunch. Maybe I should just go commit myself now and save myself the trouble of speaking to all these people.

The instant I burst into the library, panting, cupping a searing stitch in my side, everyone looks up. Some of them even _giggle_. It takes every ounce of my strength to ignore them; the only reason I am able to is because Ed isn't one of them. He looks at me when I come in and then goes back to his computer, but he doesn't laugh at me. I know it doesn't mean anything, but it makes my heart feel lighter. I'm so pathetic.

Sure enough, Mr. Richards and Tanya pounce on me the instant I'm past the book detectors.

"Envy," Tanya begins, but Mr. Richards cuts her off.

"You, Mr. Bradley, are late," he says, almost gleefully. I take a deep breath to control myself. Again with the last name.

"I had to go grab my things."

"That's what passing period is for."

"Look, I'm sorry," I try to explain, "but I got held back by Mr. Warren."

"If that were the case, he would have given you a hall pass. That makes three tardies this semester, Mr. Bradley, and as per the school rules that means you get a detention." Shit. He's right. Damn, damn, damn. "This Monday, my classroom, at lunch."

"But—!" I attempt to protest. Mr. Richards cuts me off.

"No more excuses. Each time, they get more pathetic," he sneers.

"Give the boy a break, Mr. Richards!" Tanya cries. She's all puffed up, the way she gets when she's really angry. "I don't see how hard it is just to call Bob up and ask him if Envy was in fact with him." It seems like the logical thing to do to me, too, but Mr. Richards, of course, doesn't do logical.

"You are not his teacher. Thank you for the advice, Ms. Howard, but this is not your class, and nor are you his parents. If his mother has a problem with this, she may call me up." She won't have a problem with it, and she won't call him. "Now, Envy, go find your partner and try as hard as you possibly can to stay out of his way." He turns on his heel and walks away.

I blink a few times to dispel another wave of tears.

"Are you all right?" Tanya reaches out to pat my shoulder, gently, and it still takes everything I have not to jerk away from her. "You weren't here at lunch." And we're on to that topic. Shit. Why can't anything go my way today?

"Fine. I just got a lot of homework, so I was trying to get a head start on it." I'm lying my ass off, and she knows it. I just can't talk about it, for fear that I'll break down in front of the whole class—and, worse, in front of Ed. It's not like he needs another reason to think I'm a weakling and an idiot.

Tanya sighs, her expression sad. I feel bad about lying to her and I promise myself that I'll tell her the truth someday, if she somehow doesn't work it out of me now. I'm sure she's going to try and get me to tell her, and so it's like a blow straight to my fragile heart when she waves me away and walks to help some kid without looking back. I clench my teeth tightly together and go over to Ed's table. I drop my bag on the table, sitting down carefully, trying not to trip in the face of his overwhelming perfection. It's too much. It's all I can do not to cry. I've been so emotional these past two days that it's not even funny. I can't stand it. Unable to look at him a second longer, I stand up and flee to a back corner of the library where I know no one will find me.

I spend the rest of the hour there, though I come back down as soon as the bell rings to find the class gone and Tanya standing by the doors, my backpack in her hands. She holds it out without a word and I take it slowly, not sure what to expect. Out of nowhere, she pulls me against her chest in a fierce, mother-hen hug. I'm stunned. I have no idea what to do. Dante has never hugged me before.

"You do know that you can come to me for anything, right?" she asks, patting my head.

I nod into her shoulder and feel a single tear escape. I fight tooth and nail to keep the others back as she releases me. I swipe it aside. "I know, Tanya." My voice cracks. "I just… can't… right now."

She smiles, full of warmth. "Of course." She understands. How could I have thought that she wouldn't? Another tear falls free and I brush it off, clenching my fist to distract me as I leave and head for chemistry. It works, because at some point the desire to just sob subsides, leaving me more or less free.

I have no idea what we do in chemistry. None whatsoever. If there is anything I am supposed to turn in, I don't. If there is anything I'm supposed to pick up, I don't. All I remember is the bell ringing, and I know that it's finally the weekend, which is both good and bad—good, because I can avoid all of the people who seem to hate my guts; and bad, because I won't see Ed until Monday. _Or maybe never,_ my subconscious reminds me, _if Lust and Greed get any kind of wind of what's going on, in which case they'll commit you this weekend._

Fuck. I had forgotten about that.

I gather my things at my locker and head out the door like everyone else. Wrath catches me at the entrance, his face very, very serious. Shit! He's noticed how broken up I am.

"Envy," he says, pulling me to a stop a ways before the bus. I turn unwillingly to face him. "You're not all right, are you?"

I shrug. "It's just a bad day of school." I try to blow it off, but I can tell that he's not buying it.

Wrath shakes his head. "I don't think it's all that bad, just—"

It's then that the unthinkable happens.

"Can I talk to you?" a familiar voice asks, breaking into Wrath's sentence. I find myself looking at Ed's face, and the surprise shoots through me like an electric shock. I force myself to answer.

"Um—sure." Why can't I sound more confident? I sound like a lovestruck moron. Then he grabs my arm and starts towing me through the crowd, and I forget about anything else.

He's touching me. _Me._ My skin tingles under my sweater. I take a deep breath to compose myself as he drags me to a little nook in the side of the building and faces me. His sweet scent is so enticing, but I can't do anything about it.

Why would he want to talk to me, anyway? He's biting his lip, as though regretting calling me now.

"I just wanted to let you know that even if we agreed to work together, I'm _not_ doing the whole project," he says suddenly, and very quickly. I catch every word. "I don't have time," he adds swiftly, as though afraid I'll misunderstand.

I don't misunderstand. I understand all too well, and my heart gives a painful throb, like someone has poked it with a needle or a sharp piece of ice.

He doesn't trust me to do the work. He thinks that I'll slack off because he works so hard, and make him do the whole thing. I'm hurt that he would think something of me, but I hide it quickly. I don't think he saw it.

"I'll hold up my end," I assure him. My voice comes out all small and quiet. Damn it, I'm always so shy around him! And this time, my acting skills aren't coming to save me.

"I'm counting on you," he says, like it's a warning. "Don't let me down."

_I won't let you down! I'd never let you down! I'd do anything if you asked me to. I'd even die._ I don't say any of this, though I want to. My heart squeezes again. "I won't," I whisper. I can't look at him. The ground seems so interesting, and I count the blades of grass below my feet.

"Oh. Um, okay. That's good." He suddenly doesn't seem to know what to say. "It's just, well, this is senior year, you know," he explains, waving one hand for emphasis, "and I really want to go to Stanford or Oxford or something like that, so I can't have one bad grade mess me up."

_He's leaving._

I can't think of anything else. He's leaving, going to a great, important college where he belongs, going to where I can't follow. He's going to England, probably, to dazzle them and become valedictorian there one day. I know he will. But he'll be there and I'll still be here, and he'll lead the brilliant life he deserves, win the Nobel Peace Prize, and solve the world's problems. And he'll never know that I love him more than anything else on the whole planet.

I'm in despair. I can't get the courage to tell him. He's too wonderful, too good for me. I'm just stupid and frivolous and all the things he doesn't like. I'm me and me is the worst thing in the world. If I could be someone else, _anyone_ else, maybe I'd have a chance. But I'm me, and he's leaving, and I won't be able to say goodbye. It's like someone is twisting an ice pick into my heart.

He's looking at me closely, with a confused expression in his eyes, and I wonder how much of this he's seeing. I suddenly don't care. I just want to hold him once, to feel his lips against mine….

My hands are cupping his face, his smooth skin against mine. I don't know how they got there. I tilt his chin up just slightly and kiss him.

He's wonderful, more lovely than I've ever imagined. He tastes like birthdays and the Fourth of July and Christmas, with peppermint and cake and honey. I want to hold him tighter, but he gasps.

No. I bring myself in check and start to pull away. I won't force him. I got my wish. I'll just go back to the bus and try to figure out how to continue life without Edward Elric. I prepare to take a step back.

He stops me.

His fingers tangle in my ponytail, and he pulls me back down to him, kissing me hungrily. His arm is around my neck. I slide my own arms around his back and cling to him. I feel alive, my heart leaping in my chest again and again and again, as he kisses me. I want to cry and laugh and sing at the same time. Edward Elric is kissing me. I happily give up thought and lose myself in his lips and his taste and his lovely scent.

The need for air breaks us apart. I gasp for breath, my heart humming in my chest, and delight in holding him in my arms. Our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces—like I needed another reason to know that he's the only one for me.

Ed's slightly pink and obviously embarrassed, but pleased at the same time.

_He liked it,_ I realize. My heart gives another leap.

"You have to go or you'll miss your bus," he murmurs, his arm still around my neck.

"Oh." I remember the existence of the rest of the world with a jolt. "Right." I carefully slip his fingers out of my hair and let his hand slide free. He flushes a bright, endearing red and hastily takes his arm from my neck, as though just realizing that it's still there. He's so cute. I love him so much.

I can't help but pull him back for another kiss, this one quick but deep, and hug him tightly to my chest. I release him and head back for the buses before I can change my mind.

I barely make it in time. The bus driver gives me a reproachful look as he pulls out after the other yellow rectangles, but I can't care less about him right now. I'm flying high in the sky. Ed kissed me!

Wrath, thoughtful for once, had saved me a seat. I slip into it and hug my book bag to my chest, unable to stop a small smile lighting my face.

"Are you all right?" Wrath asks in consternation.

"I'm fine." My heart sings in my chest. Ed kissed me! _Me!_ He kissed me and he enjoyed it. I want to sing, like a musical or something.

"You're… happy," my brother says suspiciously. "You're never happy."

"I'm not _never_ happy," I protest.

"You never smile," he points out.

Hmm. He might be right. I don't know, but right now I don't care. I'm in the Land of Euphoria.

It's a mark of how distracted I am that the bus ride seems to take no time at all. Before I know it, we're pulling up at our house and Wrath and I are climbing off. The bus drives off with a spray of dirt, leaving us in the dust.

I can't help but skip up the long drive to our house, and Wrath is starting to look alarmed by the time I beat him to the door. The Land of Euphoria is a nice place to be, and I don't care that he probably thinks that I've gone insane.

I dart up the front steps and unlock the front door, leaving it open for a now half-panicked Wrath to follow me through. It's hard to believe that I came this same way yesterday utterly depressed at my lack of ability to communicate with Ed.

_He kissed me, he kissed me,_ my heart sings.

Lust and Greed are crashed on the couch. She has the remote control, and he keeps trying to swipe it from her. With the Twin Telepathy, as the other five of us call it, she is already jerking it away from him before he moves. I drop my bag on the kitchen floor.

"Whatcha watching?" I ask, hopping over the armrest to sit beside Greed. I fight the urge to bounce.

They both look over at me with slightly perplexed looks on their faces, like they can't quite comprehend my expression.

"It's Food Network," Lust says after a moment. "Gluttony's going to be on in a moment." She shrugs. "Apparently he's going to be making Devil's Food Cake, with special dabs of the seven deadly sins. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." It's a lie. I'm more than fine. I'm perfect, I'm fantastic, I could jump the moon.

"You're happy," Greed states flatly.

I tilt my head slightly to one side. "What's wrong with that?"

"You're never happy," Lust, Greed, and Wrath say at the same time. My little brother dumps his backpack too and comes to join us.

I huff and cross my arms. "Ha ha. Very funny." But today I can't stay upset or perturbed. Ed kissed me. The world is perfect and shining; the sun is out and glimmering. There is no room for darkness today.

**____________________________________________________**

**Sorry if the ending seems a bit abrupt. It wasn't originally supposed to be the end of a chapter... but I kind of didn't know what to say and the thing was eleven pages long anyways, so I figured it was a good enough place to stop. That's probably the happiest Envy's been in years, which is kind of depressing, but probably... hey, I'm the author, aren't I! It IS the happiest he's been in years! So there.**

**Did I mention that Gluttony is a celebrity chef on the Food Network? Maybe in the first chapter... I think so. A stupid Gluttony is annoying, so I decided to give him some brains in this one, mostly because I didn't want him hanging around the house. One clueless individual (coughWrathcough) is enough.**

**But anyway, now that you've seen how poor neglected Envy feels about all this (i.e., elation) next chapter will go back to a still-dazed and now very bewildered Edward Elric. (cackles evilly) Now THAT will be fun!**

**THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED LAST TIME! I'd feel so honored if you would do so again. Thank you!**


	8. Chapter 8Ed

**Ack. Okay, this one's not very good, and I'm sorry that it's awfully short. To tell you the truth, I had this story planned out to chapter seven and then the ending. (giggles nervously) Yeah. I need to figure out the middle bit. Don't worry, though, I have some idea for next chappie, and when I'm in England I promise I'll plan it all out! I swear!**

**Ohmygod. I got on here today and I almost fell off my chair. 51 REVIEWS?! (faints) That's more than I expected, EVER. You guys are AMAZING!! I love you so much! Also, I have realized the wonders of Edvy action, so yes, in upcoming chappies there will be TONS! XD I like it just as much as you guys do, so there would be a lot anyways. Who wouldn't want some nice Envy x Ed makeout scenes? So, anyways, I feel so honored that you people grace me with your reviews. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!**

**As for what I'll be doing in England... lemme see. The first two weeks are being spent with my flute choir, and I know we're spending time in London, York, Carluke, and Edinburgh in Scotland. I'm sure there's more but I don't remember what it is. The last week is with my family, and I really have no clue what we're doing. Oh, except that we'll be doing London again and Oxford too. My parents met in England, so we'll be seeing a lot of those places.**

**I think I might be able to get two chapters up before I go. One certainly. We'll see!**

**Disclaimer: I am not Hiromu Arakawa, sadly. If I were, this plot wouldn't be on a fan fiction website. Instead, it would be in a published book. (sighs)**

**WARNING: yaoi! While there is no actual Edvy action in this chappie, there is lots of remembered kissing on Ed's part. Hee hee.**

**_________________________________________________________**

Eight

Ed

My phone rings.

For a moment, I don't do anything at all. I'm still in a daze. My heart rate hasn't slowed in the slightest. My breath is still coming in short gasps. I can taste Envy when I lick my lips. Each reminds me of the very un-platonic kiss we shared. I remember how close we were pressed together, and a blush rises to my face. He really isn't all that much taller than I am… I was able to wrap my arm around his slim neck….

My cell phone rings again, more insistently this time, and it finally intrudes upon my dazed musings. I fumble and eventually manage to pull it from my pocket, dropping it twice. I flip it open and hold it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Brother?" Al's worried voice reaches me. "Where are you? School ended twenty minutes ago! Are you all right?"

Surprised, I check my watch. He's right. Wow, no wonder he sounds so anxious. "I'm fine," I manage, struggling to my feet. "I just got… distracted. Where are you?"

"By your locker," Al says. "I got your stuff five minutes ago, but I was hoping you might come by… where are _you?_"

I look around. I've forgotten. "Um… by the parking lot."

"Right. I'm coming. Meet me by the car." Al hangs up, and I end the call as well, putting my phone back in my pocket. I wander back towards the car. Al's going to want to know what "distracted" me, and I have to figure out what to tell him. It'll have to be the truth… but how on earth do you say something like that? _Yeah, brother, I was making out with my worst enemy. Sorry I'm late._

At least Al knows I like guys, so there won't be that awkward aspect of the conversation. I can still remember finally working up the courage to tell him that I'm gay, back in freshman year. I was terrified he would hate and desert me, but I should have known better. Al can't care less what a person's sexual orientation is; in fact, since I "came out of the closet," so to speak, he's become involved with gay rights and stuff. I'm proud of him. He's the best little brother ever.

I don't have the car keys—Al probably does from rooting around in my locker—so I loiter by the driver's side door in an otherwise empty parking lot, completely at a loss as to what to say. It wouldn't have been so hard to explain if I hadn't kissed Envy back. I still have no idea why… except that he tasted so good, and his lips had done funny things to my stomach that no one else's had….

The car beeped as it unlocked, jerking me from my thoughts. I blinked furiously to collect my scattered senses as Al crunches up, tosses my backpack in the trunk, and walks over to hand me my keys. Sure enough, the first words out of his mouth are,

"Brother, what happened?"

"Not a clue," I admit. "Let me try and figure it out and I'll tell you when we get home."

His brow furrows, but he nods and goes around to sit on his side. I climb in and turn the little Subaru on, backing out of our spot and heading out of the parking lot, trying desperately to think rationally about what just happened. It's virtually impossible, a fact that doesn't escape my attention. What the hell! It's _Envy_. Surely I should have recoiled, not pulled closer… and enjoyed his candy apple taste… and wanted more and more….

I yank myself out of that train of thought, shaking my head slightly to clear it. Okay. So, apparently, I can't think sensibly about this whole thing; I guess I can just tell Al that and attempt to explain what I can't explain. Ugh.

Before I'm ready, the Subaru is turning up our driveway. I press the button to raise the garage door and pull in, killing the engine. Al climbs out and waits for me as I go back to grab my backpack. I sling it over my shoulder, and he leads the way indoors, kicking off his shoes and once more waiting for me to do the same before bringing me into the kitchen. He drops his bag, too, and heads for the cupboards.

"You look like you need a drink," he says firmly when I open my mouth to ask what he's doing. I shrug and sit down at the table, letting my bookbag fall to the floor with a _thunk_.

Al pulls out two glasses and fills them both with ice and water before coming back to the table and handing me one. "There," he chirps, satisfied, as he sits himself down across from me. His expression turns serious. "Ed, what happened? You're acting strange. I had to call you three times before you picked up."

I'm surprised. "Three?" Huh. I'd only heard two.

He nods gravely. "You didn't notice?"

I shake my head.

"What happened?" he asks again.

I take a deep breath and run my fingers across my face. "I don't really know," I say truthfully, and when he starts to look frightened, I hold up my hands. "No, I don't mean that I've lost my memory or whatever. I know what happened, I just… don't know _why_."

"Try your best," Al suggests. "Maybe I can help."

I blow out the air I took in and tug at the end of my braid, looking down at the table. "Envy kissed me."

There's a moment of silence.

Al's suddenly on his feet, and I look up at him in shock. His face is dark with real rage. I can only stare. Al _never_ gets mad… except to people taunting me about my sexuality. "That _bastard!_" he yells, and I'm knocked flat again. Al never swears. "What the hell! If he did anything to you, Ed, I'll—"

"Al, calm down!" I yelp, hopping to my feet, finally gathering enough of my sense back to tell him the rest. "He didn't do anything to me. He _was_ just going to leave, but…" I gulp. Here we go. "I kissed him back."

My brother stops and stares at me, startled. "Huh?"

"Yeah, this whole thing makes no sense," I sigh, dropping back into my seat. "Maybe I'm hallucinating everything."

Al sits down slowly, clearly thinking. "I don't get it," he says at last. "Why were you alone with him in the first place?"

"I needed to convince him to help me on that history project, and I couldn't exactly go around threatening him with people around," I admit. "So I towed him off to one of those little crooks in the side of the building, you know?" He nods, and I plunge on, trying to make sense of it as much for my sake as his. "Anyway, I got him to agree to help, but he only said like six words, if that."

"I thought you said Envy is a talker."

"I know!" I shake my head. "That's what was really confusing me then… and now, I guess. He hardly spoke at all either day in the library, too. It's… I don't know. It's not right."

"So you got him to agree," Al prompts. "Then what?"

I wrack my brains. They're still in a bit of a tizzy from The Kiss, so it takes me a bit to remember. "Well… I got kind of embarrassed about hounding him about all this when he seemed all shy and stuff, so I said… something about colleges, I think. I don't know. But whatever it was, he looked all panicked…." I pause to think again. "Did you know that there's specks of dark purple in his eyes?" I ask randomly.

"What?"

"Nothing." I manhandle my brain away from Envy's multi-colored eyes and try to concentrate on exactly what happened. "I remember noticing that he looked like he was in the pits of despair or something, and then he kissed me." I leave out the part about how I'd suddenly noticed—no, not noticed, _thought_ he's cute. I still can't even begin to explain that one.

"And?" Al prods. He knows there's more.

"Well, I don't remember much else," I admit sheepishly, "but I do know that he started to pull away at one point and I… I yanked him back."

Another silence settles over the kitchen. Al is no doubt trying to understand this sudden one eighty on my part—and Envy's too, doubtlessly—and I'm losing myself once again in dreamy, surreal memories of Envy's lips against mine, his taste, his touch, his body tight with mine, fitting like puzzle pieces….

"Okay, you're right, this makes no sense whatsoever," Al says, jerking me back to reality with a jolt. I blink owlishly a few times, hoping that he doesn't notice my preoccupation. He stands up with a groan and stretches. "I guess I can call Fletcher and ask if—"

"No!" The word's out of my mouth before I realize it. When Al looks at me in surprise, I blush. "It's just… if Fletcher knows, so does Russell, and I'll never hear the end of it, and any chance of understanding this goes down the drain."

"True," Al concedes. He takes his glass to the dishwasher and sticks it in.

I stand up too. "I'm going to my room."

"If you need any help, Ed, you can ask me, you know," Al says quietly, keeping his eyes on the dishwasher.

"Thanks, Al." I mean it, even if I probably won't ask him. This is something I need to figure out by myself. Somehow.

I leave the kitchen and go up the stairs slowly, running my fingers across the railing. The contact helps me anchor my poor bewildered brain to real life.

An idea strikes me, and I take the rest of the steps two at a time, galvanized. I hurry to my room and shut the door behind me, heading straight for my closet.

Back when my mom was still alive, she would buy us a yearbook for every school year, saying that our children would laugh at the silly pictures. When she died, Al and I decided to keep the tradition going, as a way to hold on to her legacy. Therefore, I have a yearbook from kindergarten to junior year of high school, and one ordered for this year.

I find the stack and haul the whole thing down. It's easy to tell which are from elementary, middle, or high school—the elementary school ones are paperbacks, junior high small hardcovers, and high school giant monstrosities over two hundred pages long. I drop them on my bed and root around for the one from second grade.

There's something I don't understand. Well, I suppose it'd be more accurate to say something_s_. First off, why have I never noticed before today that Envy's eyes are made up of two different shades of purple?

Finally, I find the page for our class. I check the heading—Ms. Keiser, that was the teacher's name—before scanning the pictures.

My eyes find me first, trained from years of looking for myself over everyone else. I don't think I look much different from then, except that my hair was cut short and my face had that childish roundness. Envy is the same—hair long and black with a shimmer of emerald, pale and thin for a second grader. I squint at the picture, trying to decipher if maybe there's more than one purple in those narrow eyes. The picture is too small to tell.

I growl in frustration and move on to third grade. We both look practically identical to the year before, and once again I can't see anything other than a vague sense of amethyst. Damn it.

A quick check of my sixth grade yearbook reveals that these, too, have pictures too small to pick out little flecks of violet. All the same, though, I keep looking through them, moving on to question number two:

When the hell did Envy become attractive?

I pause in the act of flipping another page, flabbergasted. What had I just thought? Envy _attractive?_ I hadn't meant that. He isn't attractive, just… just… oh, hell, I don't _know!_ Yes, he is kind of cute, but I'm definitely not _attracted_ to him in any way. Yes. That's it.

_Which is why you enjoyed kissing him so much, I suppose,_ a little voice in the back of my head says snidely.

I growl again and push the voice away, returning my attention to Envy's seventh grade picture. He's almost downright gaunt in that one. I wonder if maybe he was starving himself.

He's still skinny when I finally find my freshman yearbook, but it's more the lanky version that I'm used to. These pictures are slightly larger, but I still can't see enough to conclusively state if those violet specks were there before today. At any rate, I suddenly notice how pretty he is. I'm already too confused to become even more so, so this revelation makes barely a splash. _Beautiful…._

I slam that book shut and toss it away, glaring at the next one in the pile like my feelings are all its fault. Stupid Envy. Who gave him permission to be so goddamn pretty and taste so good? It shouldn't be legal.

I sigh and pick up sophomore year. He's even more breathtaking that year, and the best thing is that he wore a button-up top with the last three undone, revealing his slim throat and collarbones sticking out from the pale skin. His slender torso is just hinted at under the loose shirt, and I swallow hard. I'm blind. I'm so blind.

I grab my last book and peel it open. The spine is still so new, and I've only looked at it once, that it crackles when I open it to a random page. I flip through until I find the section for the juniors. He's on the first page, as usual, with the As and Bs. Beautiful, unintentionally alluring….

NO! This isn't right! Envy's annoying, not attractive. I don't think he's pretty at all. To distract myself, I flip to a random page and stop. It's the one for the play from last year. So much for avoiding Envy—he was in that one. Sure enough, there's a close-up shot of him saying some of his lines, looking off to the side, out of the camera's line of sight. My sigh strangles itself halfway through and I freeze, my heart stopping.

There are flecks of violet in his amethyst eyes.

I slam the book shut so fast that a small wedge of my skin gets caught and pinched between the pages. I yelp and suck on it, kicking my heel back again and again against my bed.

I try to reason with myself. So what if his eyes have small specks of dark purple in them? So what if his face is pale and perfect? It's not like it matters to me. He's still irritating and I still have to work with him on this stupid AP European History project.

I sigh. I grab all of my yearbooks and drop them on the floor, curling up on my side on my comforter, closing my eyes. I breathe in and out deeply. I start drifting off to sleep, my eyelids becoming heavier and heavier, like lead….

I can feel every line of his body through our contact. His hair is soft and silky, perfect for wrapping my fingers in. My skin's on fire where his hands are pressed against my back. He tastes so good… I can't get enough. Screw breathing. This is a million times better.

I rip my eyes open and blast into a sitting position. My heart is hammering, and not from revulsion or panic. I can't admit to myself what it might be trying to tell me. I try to slow my breathing, shaking my head back and forth slowly.

No. Envy is not attractive. He's not sexy. He's not beautiful. He's not….

**__________________________________________________________**

**Denial's more than just a river in Egypt. Silly Edward.**

**Yeah, so I have flute choir stuff from 10:00-1:00 tomorrow and the next day, and a concert at 7:00 on Thursday, so next chapter might come up a little slower. Don't worry, though, I WILL post at least this next one before I leave on Saturday. I feel bad enough about leaving you guys without giving you something to tide you over. I promise that I'll update as soon as I possibly can when I get back.**

**Anyways... how many of you guys think that Envy should tell his family why he's suddenly going through the roof? I can't decide. Silly me. All I can say is that Wrath is finally going to figure out that his brother's in love. With a guy. I have a feeling Wrath doesn't even know that Envy's gay. Wrath is so clueless. He's kind of fun to write that way.**

**In any case, I would feel so honored (I was trying to find a synonym for this, but the stupid Dictionary application didn't even think "honored" was a word) if you would tell me what you think! I feel so privileged to get your wonderful opinions. Thanks a million!**


	9. Chapter 9Envy

**I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! I really, really apologize profusely for the wait, but I had so much going on it was unbelievable. Between last-minute running around to get all the stuff I need for Europe and practicing for flute choir and all this other stuff, I had no time to really think about the following pathetic chapter. So, once again, it is very short and not terribly exciting. Once again, nothing really happens. I just felt so bad about abandoning you guys for three weeks that I pushed myself to finish it, so here it is! Yes, pathetic, and yes, probably disappointing, but I'm sorry. Next chapter will be better, I promise. More action (and maybe some more Edvy action too, hee hee) and we'll get back to the plot, which has been sadly abandoned these past two chapters.**

**Anyways, we just had our Bon Voyage Concert today, and I was standing for a frickin' _hour and a half_. Sure, that's bad normally, but add to that my knee, which has a chronically dislocating kneecap, and my feet, which have some terrible bunions, and you have one pained Kitty. Whenever we bowed, I took to bending my knees at the same time, to stretch them out a bit. I nearly cried every time. My right knee, the one with the kneecap that has popped out all on its own before, is aching inside. Joy. Looks like I'll need the heat pad tonight if I want to sleep.**

**On the other hand, my dad got home tonight! And it looks like we might get to see Pixar's new movie, _Up_, tomorrow. I hope so.**

**Anyway, if I don't have much going on tomorrow, I MIGHT be able to churn out chappie numero ten before I leave. Of course, this is a giant IF (note the allusion to the title of this work XD I'm so clever), so in case it doesn't happen (which is the most likely outcome), I'd like to remind everyone that this story will be on hiatus for three weeks until I return. I'm terribly sorry, but England is just too good to pass up.**

**Disclaimer: No, I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. BUT, I do own two of the books now! (dances a jig) Yes, I bought books 2 and 4 at Barnes and Noble on Wednesday. Random numbers, I know, but I'll let you in on a little secret: I bought them because they have large Envy roles in them :D I would've bought 13, but they didn't have that one. Darn.**

**WARNING: I'm not gonna say it. You already know.**

**Wow, that author's note is disturbingly long. I'm sorry!**

**__________________________________________________________**

Nine

Envy

My stomach grumbles loudly—again—and this time I don't ignore it. I didn't eat lunch, after all, and sitting here watching Gluttony cook isn't helping matters. I hop to my feet and make a beeline towards the kitchen.

Our kitchen is huge, filled with nice stone counters and stainless steel stoves, microwaves, etc. I don't know how to work half of it—I'll bet Gluttony is the only one who knows exactly what to do with every single thing in here. But for the rest of us, who can't make prime rib in our spare time, there's a whole refrigerator full of yogurts and celery sticks and all sorts of healthy crap that doesn't require any actual work. I'm not a bad cook, actually—in fact, I'm the only one besides Mr. Iron Chef who can make a meal without burning it—but I just don't care to do it most of the time. Cooking is boring.

I yank open the refrigerator door and pause for a moment, deliberating. Eventually, I decide that peach yogurt is better than carrots and pluck a single container from the small stack. A small recon mission among the thousands of drawers in this room uncovers a spoon, and I'm soon happily perched on one of the stools by the island. I lick some orange-colored paste off my spoon and watch with amusement as Gluttony adds a dash of lust (aka chocolate filling) to his Devil's Food Cake. Greed starts elbowing his twin, smirking. She smacks him.

"Aww, no fair!" Wrath whines. He's lying on his stomach on the other couch, his chin propped up on his fists. "_Everyone_ likes chocolate. I had to be the egg beater."

"I've already seen this recipe," I comment, hastily swallowing so they can understand me. "Greed's cherry filling, the twin of Lust's chocolate, Sloth's the icing, Pride's the whipped cream, and I'm the nuts."

"Which is appropriate, because you _are_ nuts," Wrath mutters resentfully. I look around but there isn't anything I can throw that won't kill him. "As well as _to-tal-ly_ bipolar." He turns to our older siblings. "You won't _believe_ what happened today."

"What, did a girl talk to you?" Greed drawls. Wrath hurls a pillow at him.

"No, idiot! Not with _me!_ With _Envy!_"

I point my spoon at him. "Say anything incriminating, runt, and you won't know what hit you."

Wrath scoffs. "_You're_ shorter than I am."

"And I'm nearest to the knives. So, what'll it be?"

"Ignore him," Lust says instantly, putting Gluttony on disregard as he goes on to add cherries—aka Greed—into his cake. She leans forward so she can see Wrath. "What happened?"

Wrath grins evilly. "Well, I only really saw him after school, but Envy was totally depressed, just like you told me. He wasn't good on the bus, either, so it's been going on all day—"

"I'm not depressed _now_, am I?" I demand through a mouthful of yogurt. As soon as I say it, the memory of exactly why I'm not up in my room with the door shut and the shades drawn hits me like a tractor-trailer. I can still feel Ed's soft lips, and his intoxicating taste is still on my tongue despite the peach snack. I sigh—rather dreamily, I'll admit—and happily relive the moment when _he_ pulled _me_ back down to him.

"ENVY." Lust's irritated voice breaks into my memories and I blink, coming back to the present with a jolt. By the tone of her voice and its volume, this isn't the first time she's tried to get my attention. Wrath's giggling is another dead giveaway.

"What?" I ask, my cheeks turning pink. I hope I didn't miss anything while I was zoning out.

"If he's acting, he's even better than we thought," Greed comments to her. "It looks real to me."

"Yeah…" Lust agrees slowly, her eyes never leaving my face. Damnit. I really have missed something important. I don't have a clue what they're talking about.

"What, was that short guy a talent scout or something?" Wrath asks, rolling onto his back so he can see me better.

All three of us blink at him—me, because I just remembered that he actually _saw_ Ed tow me away; and the Twins, because this is, obviously, the first they've heard of this new development.

"What short guy?" Greed and Lust chorus.

Wrath screws up his face as he tries to remember. "Well, he was tiny, even shorter than Envy, and he had weird saffron eyes and blonde hair—"

"It's golden," I correct automatically, scraping out the bottom of my yogurt container and popping the last spoonful into my mouth.

"Ed?" Lust asks in disbelief.

"No way!" Greed exclaims. "What the hell? He came to talk to you? Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"It wasn't about much," I say defensively. "He just had to talk about the history project." _And he ended up kissing me,_ I add in my head.

"What history project?" the Twins ask in unison.

Shit. I'd forgotten I hadn't told them about that. "Well, Mr. Richards assigned a project where teams of two have to basically 'teach' the class about a particular century in European history. We got the eleventh century."

"You and who?" Greed demands hesitantly, as though he isn't sure he wants to know, but is nearly certain that he already does.

"Ed," I chirp, and toss my spoon into the sink. The plastic container goes into the trashcan.

"Wait a second, who's this Ed person you keep talking about?" Wrath complains. "I'm confused! What does he have to do with Envy?"

The rest of us ignore him. If he's too much of an idiot to figure out what's been going on for ten years, then he doesn't deserve to know. Honestly, I have no idea how Wrath manages to be so completely clueless.

Suddenly, his eyes widen, and he sits bolt upright like he's been hit by lightning. "Wait!" he yells. "Is this Ed that shorty who came to talk to you? The kid with the blonde hair?"

"Golden," I amend again.

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock," Greed says, his voice dripping sarcasm. Wrath ignores him. He's too busy thinking.

"He goes to our school, right?" Wrath asks no one in particular, his face screwing up as he contemplates. "Yeah… he seems awfully familiar…. But yeesh, En, you _were_ acting really weird around—" he stops short and his eyes get really, really big. Lust, Greed, and I stare at him, wondering if maybe he's choking on his own air supply.

Suddenly, he leaps off the couch and points one finger at me like it's a spear. "You're in love with him!" he shouts.

This doesn't have quite the reaction he undoubtedly expected. Lust yawns. Greed slouches back against the couch, looking disappointed. I raise one eyebrow.

"He finally figured it out."

"I was hoping it would've been something more hidden," Greed sighs. "He only gets observant about once every year, and this is kind of pathetic."

"My favorite was when he was six and he figured out that Dante was having an affair," Lust says.

"Me too."

Wrath's face is all scrunched up again. He's thinking. "But… wait," he says, one eye twitching slightly. "Doesn't that make Envy gay?"

"Where have you been for the last sixteen years of your life?" Lust asks in shock. I can't help but wince slightly at that one. Wrath won't turn seventeen for another three months. Ouch.

"Mars?" Greed finishes for her.

"There's a _reason_ why Envy acts like such a girl," Lust goes on.

"And has long hair."

"And shops a lot."

"And paints his nails."

Now, that is going a bit far. "I do not," I snap.

"Yes, you do," the Twins chorus.

"Not since seventh grade!"

"So?"

"You still did."

"… Shut up."

Greed crows with laughter and slaps his thighs, bending over slightly to make it easier to breathe. Lust smirks triumphantly. Wrath simply looks very confused.

"Okay," he says slowly, as though trying to get this all straight in his head. "So, En likes guys. Okay. And you're in love with this Ed character? Why is he never here? Is he even in your grade?"

"He's a senior! And don't call him short, because he'll kill you. I learned that a _long_ time ago."

Wrath blinks. "How long has this been going on?"

"This is where it gets really pathetic," Greed snickers. "You, Wrath, are the most clueless person on the entire planet. Envy's been in love with Edward Elric since second grade."

Wrath's eyes get huge. "Holy. Shit. Really?"

"Yes, unfortunately," Lust sighs. "That's the reason why we asked you to make sure En doesn't try to commit suicide or anything. It's tearing him apart. Greed and I have been debating anti-depressants."

"I. Am. Not. Depressed."

"Not right this second, you're not," Lust agrees, and then her eyes narrow dangerously. "Which, I'll admit, is confusing all of us. You haven't been this happy in years. What the hell happened? As long as you're not on crack or something, Greed and I WILL find a way to replicate this."

"That'd be nice," I agree, fighting to keep the dreaminess out of my voice. Yes. It would be nice, if Ed would kiss me again….

"… if there's no other choice," Lust finishes triumphantly. I shake my head quickly and rub my forehead.

"Huh?"

"He spaced out again," Greed snorts.

"I _said,_" Lust growls, "that we'll quite happily tell Dante about your problems with depression and she'll stick you in a hospital before you can blink, complete with shrink and padded walls."

"What?" I yelp. "No!"

"Believe me, En, we'll do it if there's no other choice," Lust says grimly. I believe her. Lust can be vicious when she wants to be. Greed isn't half as scary as she is once you get to know her.

I take a deep breath and push my fingertips against the skin above my eyes. I love my siblings, but they can give me one killer headache. "What do you want, Lust?"

"Tell me what happened!" she demands, hopping forward on her seat, the way she does when she's ready to hear some really good gossip. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. That would only make her irritated, and when Lust gets irritated… well, let's just say I wouldn't be the closest one to the knives _then_.

"Yeah, give us all the insider details!" Greed gushes, flapping his hands like a seventeen-year-old girl. Lust slaps him.

"I can't believe I'm related to you people," Wrath mutters under his breath.

"We'll happily disown you, if that's what you want," Greed says cheerfully. "_Then_ you could truthfully say that we're not your family. _And_ we could save ourselves a lot of future embarrassment and money from fines."

Wrath pauses in his quest for another pillow. "Why?"

"Because people will want us to pay damages after they've seen your face," Greed says seriously.

Lust chokes on her laugh, and then Greed's practically rolling on the floor, howling with laughter. Even a well-aimed cushion to the head doesn't stop him. Wrath's looking murderous as he sits up on the couch and crosses his arms so tightly it looks like they'll never come unwound.

"You people are the insane ones," I proclaim flatly. I hop off my stool and start to head out of the room.

"WAIT!" Lust yells, quickly controlling her giggles. "I haven't heard what happened yet! Tellmetellmetellme!"

"Breathe," Greed reminds her. She breathes.

"Okay, _fine_," I sigh. "You want to know so badly? Fine. Ed kissed me. Happy now?"

Lust blinks at me. "Huh?"

"I must've heard wrong," Greed comments, sticking a finger in his ear and wiggling it around. "What did you say?"

I enunciate it carefully—not just for their own good, but because it makes my heart feel warm and content to say the words. "Ed. Kissed. Me." I can't stop the shy smile from crossing my face, joined soon after by a delicate pink blush.

Lust gasps, her entire face lighting up. "No way!" Greed yelps. "Seriously? En, that's… that's… that's the best news I've heard all year! No joke!"

"I know," I say, with a trace of smugness.

My sister exhales and falls back against the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest and smiling like a maniac. Lust loves romance (huh, appropriate name much?) and I know that she's been worried about me, so news that Ed may finally be returning my feelings probably just made her year, like it apparently made Greed's.

Dear, lovely Ed. I hug myself and lean against the corner, listening to Lust squeal. Even Wrath seems to have gotten over the shock of figuring out that I'm in love with a _guy_, enough that he, too, can smile. I remember Ed's body pressed against mine—perfect, well-muscled for a (dare I say it) short person; hell, I'm absolutely positive that he's stronger than I am. I lick my lips unconsciously. Ed's taste, even imagined, is unbelievable, better than I've dreamed for years. His lips are firm and sweet, crushing against mine. A shiver passes down my spine. Again, I remember that it was _he_ who yanked me back down to him. He wanted to kiss me.

_He wanted me._ Somehow, he hadn't hated it. My heart beats faster at the thought. My dear Ed didn't think I am so terrible when his lips were on mine. I know, deep inside, that that means nothing—I'll never be good enough to belong to him—but my heart isn't listening to my head. My heart is still on Cloud Nine, and I don't blame it. Some of the holes in its tattered form have healed themselves, and I feel stronger emotionally than I have in a long time.

I close my eyes and imagine Ed's arms around me, holding me close. It's a lot easier now that I've actually experienced something like it, and even though it's just in my head it sends waves of contentment rushing through my body. His hands in my hair… cradling me… I'm happy… _wanted_….

For once, this fake reality doesn't hurt.

**________________________________________________**

**WELL, I don't really know what to say down here (I've run out of steam after writing all of that up there...) except that:**

**OMG!!!! 64 REVIEWS?!?! I thought I was dreaming at first. Even without me updating, people still commented! I was floored. Honestly. Yeek. I never expected that many AT ALL. Not even TOTAL out of every fic I plan to write. So, I owe my perserverance with this, frankly, weird fanfic to you guys! ALL OF IT! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU (etc)!!!!!!! Like Envy, I feel (sniffle) WANTED! Thank you so much! I would bring you all to Europe with me but I don't think that _a)_ my suitcase is big enough and _b)_ that the airline company would let me bring a six ton bag onto the plane. Plus Barbara (my flute choir director) would probably kill me. But disregarding all of that, I would bring you. And, anyways, I'm carrying you all in my heart! In case chapter ten doesn't come up for three weeks, thank you all so much for sticking with me this long! I LOVE YOU GUYS!**


	10. Chapter 10Ed

**Aaannnd... (silence) a-HEM (drumroll) I'M BACK!!! (cymbal crash)(bells ring)(chandelier falls)(piano breaks) Okay, yes, fairly obvious by the fact that this is up. But I couldn't resist (besides, I'm battling nine hours worth of jet lag. Give me a little break).**

**Okay. So, first of all, I got back the day before yesterday and went to check my e-mail. I had to go through it three times before I convinced myself that this wasn't some sleep-deprivation-induced hallucination. And _then_ I almost fainted. Believe me, it was close. And then, finally, I got around to actual rational thought, and was like OHMYGOD!! 92 REVIEWS?!?! Holy crap! That's freakin' AMAZING. YOU guys are amazing. Seriously, I'm still freaking out. I never dreamed that this little thing would reach 100... but it sure looks that way right now, doesn't it? SO. To reward you guys, whoever is the one hundredth reviewer will get a one-shot dedicated to them with the pairing of their choice! (da da da daaa!!) Yeah, conventional, I know, but I'm throwing in a loop here in that I only know three manga/anime, so you'll have to pick from either a) FMA b) Loveless or c) Kuroshitsuji. Yep, I added a third to my list, and I'm current. Hurrah.**

**Anyways, I also have to thank you wonderful reviewers for catching something that I (nervous giggle) didn't even think of. Yeah, it is kinda weird that Scar & Co. are in AP Chem, isn't it? So, to save my reputation, between reading that and posting this, I came up with an (admittedly, pathetic) excuse. Here goes: Have you ever noticed how people who don't belong there AT ALL somehow worm their way into Honors/AP courses? There. That's my spin on that stupid blunder. That, and those three serve a plot purpose for later. So there.**

**As for my trip, look to the bottom author's note. I'm runnin' out of space up here.**

**Anyways, on to what you guys have waited 3 weeks for:**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own FMA. I did see the Seven Deadly Sins at Rosslyn Chapel, though. The Seven Virtues were on the flipside, and Greed had somehow gotten himself switched with Charity. I found that hilarious. Unfortunately, I wasn't allowed to take pics, so I don't own those either.**

**WARNING: Yaoi. Obviously. Just in case any of you thought Envy or (heaven forbid) Ed was a girl. So, yes, boy x boy (or bromance, as my brother called it whilst we were in the Olde Countrie).**

**_______________________________________________________________**

Ten

Ed

Picture, if you will: a fourteen-year-old boy, a bowl full of apple slices, a peanut butter jar to the side, a TV tuned to one of those model shows, and a hawk-eyed young vice principle, all in the same room. An innocent enough scene, you may say, and while there was no shouting on that day five years ago, I was changed forever, and it certainly helps to explain at least part of the dream I am having Sunday night.

Anyways, like I said earlier, Vice Principle Izumi Curtis lives right next door to us, and Al, Winry, and I would go (and often still do) to help her out with chores around the house. She has a big house for housing only her husband and herself. They have a bunch of pigs and cattle and chickens and whatnot on their farm. Sig, Izumi's husband, is a butcher. She always keeps us out of the way of the slaughtering pens—habit, I suppose.

But in any case, that particular day Al had track practice after school and Winry was working on an extra-credit assignment for her science class, with the result that I was the only one around to help Izumi clean her kitchen. The job was done fairly quickly—Izumi's not a messy person—and so I had loads of time left over before I had to go help Pinako pick up Al.

Izumi chopped up a few apples, grabbed the peanut butter, and turned on the TV to what I thought at the time was a random channel. She sat me down on the couch and I happily started slathering peanut butter all over one side of apple slices, munching as I watched the show. Izumi sat next to me and did the same.

It was one of those model shows that features both men and women, and I had seen it a few times in passing at my house. I never would watch that kind of stuff with Al around, because then, like at that moment, I would find myself guiltily (and furtively) watching the guys, not the ladies. My stomach twisted uncomfortably and I forced myself to eat another apple slice. The guilty part of me wished fervently that Izumi would change the channel to something harmless, like the Food Network, while the other half, which I had tried for months to squash, was rather pleased at her "accidental" choice. I chewed on my lip as one of the especially cute young men made the rounds.

"So," Izumi said, reaching for the knife and another apple, "which one do you like better? The blonde or the carrot top?"

"Blonde," I replied, my eyes still on the screen. "He's—eep!" I slapped my hand over my mouth, horrified, but the damage had already been done. My mind was an incomprehensible mess of horror and anguish, only one word—_Al!_—clear amongst the tangles. The picture on the TV blurred and the next thing I knew _tears_ were falling down my face. Before this could make me even more horrified than before, Izumi dropped the peanut butter-coated knife and the apple and put her arms around me.

"Shh, Ed, it's okay," she murmured as I sobbed into her shoulder. "It's all right, hon, you're fine. Just take deep breaths and calm down. Okay? With me. Breathe in, hold for one, two, three, four, five. Breathe out, hold for one, two, three, four, five…."

I can't remember how many times we did that, but in the end Izumi had me down to mere sniffles, rubbing at my nose with a Kleenex she had given me from a too-conveniently-placed box by her elbow.

"There we go," she said, sounding very satisfied. "Do you feel any better?"

I decided to go with an affirmative. Even if my life was over, I did feel just the tiniest bit well again. "Yeah," I whispered hoarsely.

Izumi sat me back on my side of the couch and handed me an apple. I ate it automatically, just to give myself something to do. My mind was curiously blank.

"It really is all right, Ed," she began, but I cut her off.

"No it isn't! I—I like other boys, Izumi; that isn't normal! I'm not supposed to—to—" I had to blow my nose again at that point, so my voice still sounded thick when I went on, "And what'll Al think?" There was my biggest fear, my worst worry, the reason I'd spent so many nights without sleep.

"I seriously doubt Al will care," Izumi said bluntly. "He's not the kind of insensitive moron who would give you a hard time about this. Really. In fact, I'd be surprised if he doesn't already know."

I stared at her. "You—you really think so? You don't think he'll hate me for being a freak?"

"Edward Elric," Izumi barked, scaring me half to death. "You are _not_ a freak, and if I _ever_ hear you say that again I will happily beat you to death. _Do you understand?_"

I bobbed my head up and down dumbly. My heart was still beating like I'd just run the mile at a sprint.

Izumi's thunderous glare turned to a grin and she patted me on the top of the head. "There. That wasn't so hard, was it? Now, shall we sit here and watch your boyfriend for a while longer or do you want me to change the channel?"

"He's not my _boyfriend_," I grumbled, but when she smirked at me I managed a watery smile back.

So, yes, that conversation really does help when my dream of Sunday night comes into play. I am slumbering peacefully, enjoying the kind of dream that usually comes to those on crack (for your information, those of you who I know are dying to hear about it, it involved a pink rabbit, a house with three thousand floors, a Russian dude in a kilt, pirates flying on household cleaning supplies, and semi-automatic nuclear weapons), when all of a sudden I fall into the dungeon of the pirates' mop bucket and into pitch darkness.

I wait, of course, because when I do that my dreams come up with something else random to occur, and it gets interesting again. But this time, nothing whatsoever happens. I sigh grumpily and somehow manage to prop my chin up on my fists without poking myself in the eye.

"What's the matter?" a soft voice whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. I stiffen, and the person's hand brushes several strands of my hair behind my ear. This time my whole body shudders, and I accidentally bite my tongue fighting back a moan. "Surely you're not _bored_…" the person goes on, and finally I decide that it's a guy. Before I can ask to make sure, his lips descend on the corner of my jaw for a gentle kiss.

My gasp is audible, but he makes no sign that he heard it. His hands slide down my arms, which have fallen limply into my lap, his mouth teasing the nerves in my neck. There's a rustle of cloth and suddenly my legs are pinned between his. I can't see anything, and so I reach out very hesitantly until my hand encounters his chest. I slowly slip that arm around his back and use the other to cup his cheek, turning his head away from my neck. I can feel his delicious breath on my face, and I bring him down to me, kissing him hungrily.

_Ohgodohgodohgod—_My thoughts implode almost instantly, but it doesn't matter. He's kissing me back, hands coming back up my sides, carefully cupping my face. I run my fingers through his hair—it's like silk; no, better than silk. I can't describe it, so I tangle my fingers in it, determined to memorize the feel of it while I can.

Thank heavens that in this dream I don't need air, and, apparently, neither does he. No such silly thing as needing to breathe gets in my way _this_ time.

Whoa. Wait a second. _This_ time?

A door opens to whatever room we're in—I'm not in the mop bucket anymore—and he breaks off the kiss hurriedly, like he's afraid that we'll be found out. I look up at him, completely disoriented, and the only thing I can comprehend is the gemstone eyes, amethyst flecked with violet.

_Buzz._

I hurtle back into the real world, blasting upright, and bang my head on my reading lamp. It's the kind that has the adjustable arm, so I'd pulled it over my bed for studying last night, and forgotten to put it back. I'm only just remembering this while I yelp in pain and collapse back onto my pillows.

Damn school and its early hours. Damn my alarm clock and its terrifying buzz. Damn stupid pirates with cleaning supplies. And most of all, damn Envy for invading my dreams yet _again_.

Well, forget about trying to snatch a few extra seconds of sleep, because I'm wide-awake now. Snarling under my breath, I shove my lamp out of the way before turning it on, blinking fiercely when the bright light brings tears to my eyes. I stumble out of my nice warm bed, snatch up a batch of clothes, and smack my knee into my desk chair on my way out the door. Al can probably hear my cursing all the way to the bathroom.

I've calmed down a little after eating breakfast, so Al decides that it's safe to travel with me to school rather than footing it down the way to Winry's house and hitching a ride with her. The Subaru starts on the first try, so by the time we arrive at South Pueblo High, I've settled down enough to almost be called normal.

It's only after pulling my backpack out of the trunk and hurrying to catch up with Al as usual that I remember that Envy and I kissed last Friday.

Okay, so it's not like I _forgot_, exactly (it would be kind of hard to), but more like it just occurs to me that it really actually happened and I still have to do that project with him.

I almost trip over a curb in my horror, so I end up not getting to Al after all. I see that he and Fletcher and Russell are all heading indoors; I decide not to worry about them and rush to my locker, having settled upon a course of action that will ensure my avoidance of my arch nemesis-turned-possibly the hottest thing ever—aka, grabbing my books and heading for the Government classroom, where I can hide until first hour actually starts.

I fumble my locker combination and have to do it twice, but in the end all of my unnecessary school supplies have been put away and my Government things are clutched in my arms. I go as quickly as I can down the hallway, managing both to nod and smile for anyone who calls out to me, and to avoid tripping over people's outstretched legs. And so I'm feeling rather pleased with myself and my watertight plan as I charge around a deserted corner and smack straight into someone.

Luckily, neither one of us falls—we both stumble back, and likely would have toppled over if the third person on the scene hadn't grabbed an arm each and steadied us. I barely avoid dropping my Government work all over the floor, but nothing else falls so I assume whomever I just ran into still has his backpack on.

"I'm so sorry!" I say, wondering why the hell the kid looks so familiar. Then last Friday comes back to me in a blur and I recognize Envy's younger brother, Wrath. And that means—

"It's fine, right, En?" Wrath sighs, looking pointedly at the person still holding both of our arms.

Envy drops my arm like a hot coal and takes a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets. He won't look at me, but I feel like I've been hit in the stomach with a boulder, his beauty so much more striking in real life. He nods in response to Wrath's question.

"Anyways, it was kind of his fault," Wrath explains, evidently completely oblivious to the tension in the air. "We're so used to being rushed that we went around the corner too fast. Sorry."

"Um, no, it was my fault, it's fine," I ramble, hoping I don't sound as contradictory as it seems.

Wrath looks very confused for a moment, probably at my complete lack of ability to make sense, and then he glances over at Envy, befuddled there too. Then his eyes go back to me and his entire face lights up.

"Ha! I remember you now!" he crows gleefully, startling both Envy and me. "You're Edward Elric!"

"Um—yes." Well, what can you say to that?

"Wow, you really are short," he marvels, brushing back some of his unruly black mane with one hand.

I bristle. "WHO—"

"I'llseeyoulatergottagobye!" Wrath yells at the top of his lungs. Before I can blink, he's disappeared, leaving me alone in an empty side hallway with Envy. Damn. My watertight plan has sprouted a gigantic leak and sunk.

"Er—hi," I manage.

"Hello." He tugs at the sleeve of his turtleneck sweater, keeping those beautiful eyes downcast. A group of chattering girls go by, and I can hear the sounds of more people on the way. Soon, this hallway, too, will be filled with people.

I grab his arm, ignoring the sense of deja vu. "Come on."

Envy lets me tow him down the hallway and to the janitorial closet by the counseling office. This closet, as every freshman soon learns, should be locked but never is, unless someone's in it. I yank the door open, push us both inside, and lock the door behind us. Envy finds the light switch and flicks it on. It flickers for a moment before coming to life.

I stick my binder onto the shelf and turn an empty mop bucket upside-down and sit on it. Oh, the irony. Envy just drops his book bag on the floor by his feet and leans against the wall.

I decide to pick a safe topic of conversation first. "What are you doing here so early?"

"The bus driver was sick, so we got a sub." Envy shrugs. "She drove much faster."

"Hum." And that's it for my inventive conversation starters. I can't think of anything else to say. Well, except for _You were in my dreams all weekend_, but there's no way _that's_ coming out of my mouth.

Envy takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I did do some research this weekend," he says finally. When I look at him with incomprehension, he quickly explains, "You know, for the eleventh century."

Ah. "Of course," I murmur, like I knew that all along.

He bends down to pick up his bag and begins rooting around in it, coming up with a stapled packet of papers after a few moments. His smooth movements are strangely hypnotizing—the subtle gleam of his eyes, the swing of his hair, trapped as it is in a ponytail. I remember that he used to wear it loose, but for years now it's been like this. I'll bet that letting it free would make him even more beautiful.

I mentally slap myself. Several times. And then kick myself in the ribs for good measure. That kiss was the result of a moment of insanity, I remind myself—that's the explanation I came up with after lunch on Saturday.

"Here," Envy says, breaking into my thoughts. He holds out the papers and I take them, focusing on the black type. It's a lot of things that I haven't gotten around to looking at yet.

"Good job," I comment absently, flipping the page to skim it as well.

"Oh." He sounds surprised. I glance up in time to catch a pink blush light his pale cheeks. "Thank you." A small almost-smile turns up the corners of his very kissable lips.

I'm gone. Just like that, it's over. I can't help myself now. I stand from the bucket and hold out the papers. He leans over to take them; I grab his wrist with my free hand and yank him to me, smashing our lips together.

Oh, gods, he tastes better than I remember or imagined. Obviously he's startled, but he recovers quickly, curling his hands around my shoulders and pulling me closer. My fingers have found his hair—I pull out the band and slap it around my wrist, combing it out, twisting the soft strands around my hands.

His own fingers, delicate and nimble, are dancing down my back, tracing the muscles there, slipping along my spine, just ghosting across my hip. I pull him harder against me and he makes a sound deep in his throat that I can't put a name to, moving to cup my face.

I follow the long locks of his hair down to his slender back, pressing my hands against it and using it to hold him close. The apple taste of his mouth reminds me of those peanut butter apples I had with Izumi on that day so long ago. The warning bell rings but neither of us acknowledges it.

Finally, though, the little snatches of air we've been taking are no longer enough, and we have to break the kiss to suck in a breath. I look up the short distance required to see his face, and find that I quite like his hair tumbling free around it. The only problem is that his eyes are still closed. I move one hand to cup his cheek, and those wonderful orbs fly open, looking down at me, half-quizzical and half-dazed.

"You really should wear your hair down more," I say, and then I kiss him again, biting his lower lip. It's the farthest I've ever gone with someone, and I break it off quickly, not entirely sure what I'll do. "Class," I manage.

Envy knows what I mean. He picks up his bag and I my binders; this time he unlocks the door while I switch off the lights. The halls are deserted—according to those stupid clocks, we have a minute to get to class. I charge towards the Government room, but I can't help looking back once to see Envy's long hair swish around the corner towards the theater, and remember that I still have his hair band around my wrist.

**_____________________________________________________________________________________**

**I swear I'm not on crack. And I'm sorry! I'm so sorry it's all weird like that; I couldn't think of anything else. I know that I promised to come up with ideas for this, but I failed. Instead, I came up with plots for loads more Edvy stories, with twists including Nazis, nuclear storms, foster homes, flutes, a king/queen kidnapper, spies, England, spaceships, murder, and Kain Fuery as a Jewish person. No, those aren't all in the same one. Then I really would be on crack.**

**But do not worry! If will not go on standby just because I don't really know what I'm doing. I kinda sorta maybe a little bit know what I could do, and I would feel horrible to leave you guys hanging, anyway.**

**I'd really, really love to tell you guys about my trip, but I used up too much space as it is, so eventually I'll get around to updating my profile and sticking something on there. Hope I remember all of it. My memory's gotten a little lousy (nervous giggle). But I did talk about FMA (very briefly) with my roommates once, and I got to go see As You Like It at Shakespeare's Globe, and got the COOLEST POSTER EVAR which has a bunch of sayings on it that Shakespeare invented, one of which is "green-eyed jealousy"! Even though Envy doesn't have green eyes, it's still cool.**

**I got the stuff I have to read for AP Lit today, I really don't want to do it. Bleh. But anyhoo, REVIEW AWAY! Remember, 100th one gets a special treat! I love hearing what you think (and I do actually take what you say into account). So feel free to say "I think Ed n' En should do this and that." See you lot soon!**


	11. Chapter 11Envy

**I suck.**

**I feel so terrible! I've had this basically all planned out in my head since last Wednesday, but for some reason the words wouldn't go onto the page. And after you people were the BEST READERS A GIRL COULD ASK FOR and left me a total of 113 reviews... I feel so loved and so horrible. So I gave you twelve pages and one sentence instead of eight. Well, it kind of turned out that way. But still.**

**Also, congratulations for deathslash, the one hundredth reviewer! A SlothxLust pairing was requested, so that story will (eventually) be up too. In the meantime, everyone give a round of applause!**

**Other than that, not much going on.... I still feel terrible. Next chapter will come quicker, I promise!**

**Disclaimer: Do. Not. Own. At all. Unfortunately. Though I did manage to confuse the hell out of my friend by trying to explain the homunculi... and failing miserably....**

**WARNING: Y-A-O-I. Sing it to the tune of YMCA. Remember it. Seriously.**

**__________________________________________________________________**

Eleven

Envy

I make it to the theater three seconds before the bell rings. The teacher isn't even looking my way, so I get off without the Royal Glare. Already giddy, I almost skip to one of the red velvet seats, hugging my book tightly to my chest. It's good that it's one of the hardcover school varieties—I need something tangible to keep me in the here and now. Or, well, something real enough that I can come back.

My hair, freed from its usual bondage, swings forward to hide my face. I don't mind. I use the cover as an opportunity to reach up and touch my lower lip, slightly swollen from Ed's bite. My entire body is buzzing, and my consciousness is running circles inside my head. Joy pushes at my chest, straining for escape. I'm too lost to give it any avenues.

Ed kissed me again. _He_ wanted to. I'd been too tongue-tied, too hesitant, still too shy in front of him to do anything. It had taken everything I'd had to show him what I'd managed to put together over the weekend. And he'd liked it! The memory of his praise sends warmth washing over my body. I have finally done something right.

I don't have an extra hair tie to pull my unruly locks back, but I don't care. Ed said that he likes it down—so, therefore, down it will remain. I run my fingers through the strands, already starting to lose the kink formed by the ponytail, carefully tugging out the knots at the bottom. I'm not really paying attention to anything the teacher's saying, but for once luck is going my way and she doesn't even call on me. I'm not even sure what she talks about. My blood hums through my veins, and I feel _alive_, like I haven't in so long. I lean my elbows on the book I've placed on my lap and prop my chin on my hands. This way, it looks like I'm bored, but paying attention. The teacher is either fooled or she doesn't look my way anyway.

I don't hear the bell go off, but evidently it does, because suddenly everyone is getting up and heading out the door. I check the time—yep, it's right, I don't know how I didn't hear that—and follow them, sweeping my hair behind my shoulders. It's so much easier to deal with that way.

As for good old English class, I remembered to pack my _Hamlet_ book this morning, but it turns out that we don't need it. I've forgotten, what with all that's been going on, but apparently we're starting a new unit on rhetoric. Goodie. Rhetoric usually means lots of essays. I have problems writing essays, mostly because I have a hard time remembering to put a topic sentence in, and I hate following the so-called "guidelines" to writing the stupid paper. I'll do it my own way, thanks ever so much. Unfortunately, nobody else sees it my way, so essays all in all aren't my best friends.

Mrs. Thompson hands out a rhetorical essay—something about poverty—written by some famous person whose name I've forgotten, and then, lo and behold, charges us to write an essay about the essay.

Okay, so, let me explain. Basically, we're supposed to write an essay explaining how the famous dude uses rhetoric in his little piece. That's all. I'm probably going to fail. Insert groan here.

As for my dear Ed… he's always getting the highest grades in the class. I envy (ha ha) his ability to follow those stupid guidelines and still manage to express himself.

So we end up talking about rhetoric all hour (I don't remember where I heard this, but it's completely appropriate: snoresville), and it goes right up to the bell. Sometimes I hate Mrs. Thompson and her lectures.

I hurry to my locker to snatch up my math supplies and make my way back down the stairs. At this hour people are so scattered that it's easy to work my way through. I step around the clumps of gossipers and am almost on top of him before I realize that Ed is still at his locker. I screech to a halt; he spots me and turns, a small smile on his face. My heart is beating very loudly in my chest. He's so beautiful. How can someone so gorgeous be real?

"Hey," he says, reaching down to grab his math textbook. "So I was thinking… you know the library downtown?"

I nod dumbly and wrestle my tongue back under control. "Yeah."

"Well, it's as good a place to meet as any, and we need to work on that project." He slams his locker door shut and leans against it, apparently in no hurry to get to the classroom eight feet away. He looks up at me. The lights gleam off his hair. "So, what do you think?"

"Um… sure," I manage. I take a deep breath and think it over, brow furrowing slightly in concentration. "I, um, can't exactly drive, though, so I'll have to get Greed or someone to drive me…." I'm biting my lip slightly when I look up again. Ed has a glazed look in his eyes, his mouth ever so slightly open. I blink at him. "Ed?" My heart flutters at saying his name aloud. A warm tingling sensation spreads throughout my body.

He jerks slightly, eyes suddenly flaring bright. "Oh! I'm sorry. Heh. Zoned out there…." He rubs the back of his head. I know the signs of nervousness from afar, and I wonder what he was thinking about. He changes the subject hastily. "Okay. So does four sound good?"

"Yeah. That's fine." It's easier to talk to him if I don't look at him directly. But I want to look into those golden eyes so badly….

"Okay, cool!" He sounds pleased. Ed starts toward our math classroom, jerking his head to make me follow. I go after him like a puppy on a lead—it takes every ounce of strength in me not to touch his braid, swinging slightly as he bounces down the hallway. I dig my fingers in around my books, the hard covers biting into my skin.

In this class we sit on opposite ends of the classroom, so I can't even really see his lovely golden head. I drop my things on my desk and pull out my homework with a sigh. Hopefully Mr. Holloway will ramble on about something random today so I can fade out and think about other, more pleasant things… like Ed's hair and how good it would feel to run my fingers through. Well, I'll have to hope for a third kiss to… to try…. I lose my train of thought, licking my lips at the memory of our other encounters….

"Envy," Mr. Holloway calls, and from the tone of his voice and the suspicious sniggers running through the room this isn't the first time he's tried to get my attention. I snap back to reality and look up, trying to rein in my blush.

"What?" More sniggers. At least Mr. Holloway has the decency to ignore them. A certain history teacher I know, however, would have been a different story….

"Note for you," he says, holding out a white slip of paper. I get up to collect it and slink back to my seat, glad that Ed likes my hair down—this way, I can hide my increasingly pink cheeks. I unfold the paper and inspect it.

Oh, _shit_.

I'd forgotten that I have detention with Mr. Richards at lunch today.

I have to satisfy myself by _imagining_ slamming my head into the desk. Repeatedly. People would stare if I do it for real. Not to mention that I might give myself a concussion. I've only had a few—from falling off horses—but I don't want to add another to my list. I wonder distractedly, through my thoughts of self-mutilation, if I'll have time to grab a lunch or if I'll have to go hungry again. I hate skipping meals.

I check the time on the slip again and grimace. Right. My stupid teacher is giving me five minutes to get from here to his classroom. Fantastic. My hate-ometer for Mr. Richards, which I thought couldn't get any higher, has gone through the fucking ceiling.

AP Calc passes by quickly, with no actual math being done, and then the bell rings to set us loose on the school, screaming for food. I don't even have time to go to my locker and ditch my things—straight to Hell it is.

I trudge up the stairs and arrive at Mr. Richards' room with two minutes to spare. I close my eyes and grit my teeth before rapping my knuckles against the door.

"Come in," my least favorite teacher calls. I take a deep breath for control and turn the knob.

I swear a smirk of pure evil spreads across his face the moment he sees me. I have a brief daydream involving Mr. Richards, my mother, and a wrestling ring. I wonder who would win, and I don't know whom I'd root for.

I'm pondering this when Mr. Richards says, "Well, hello there Mr. Bradley." He leans back in his chair with that _smug_ look on his face and I give him the best scathing glance I can manage. He laughs, like my resistance is amusing. Another moment of temporary insanity hits me and I wonder if he's a Sith Lord on the weekends. Or part-time. "Come now, it's only one lunch period. Sit down." He gestures grandly at the desk in front of his. I grit my teeth and obey.

"Now what?" I ask bluntly after I'm settled, calculus items dumped in a careless pile on the corner of the desk.

"Now," he says with considerable relish, leaning over and picking up a large, stapled packet. I eye it warily as he hands it across his desk and to me. "I want you to complete that packet in this lunch hour. If it's not done, another will be allocated to its completion. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I grumble, snatching up a pencil and scrawling my name on the top—in capitals, just so he'll know it's me—before I even look at the questions.

_From what language does the word "alchemy" originate?_

_How did Jenny Geddes manage to start a revolution for religious change in Scotland?_

_The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his pregnant wife Sophie by the Serbian Black Hand sparked the conflict that turned into WWI. Why were authorities not able to convict their killer of murder?_

I gape at the sheet and look up at Mr. Richards, who seems incredibly smug. "What—but—I don't know any of this!"

He checks his watch. "You have thirty minutes."

I set up a line of curses in my head and hurry to answer the questions. I can't believe Mr. Richards is doing this. I don't know any of this!

_1) From what language does the word "alchemy" originate?_

_Latin_

_2) How did Jenny Geddes manage to start a revolution for religious change in Scotland?_

_She beat a bishop over the head with her breadbasket; one of the hardest loaves fell out and broke in the shape of a human head. Jenny screamed that this was a sign from god to send heads rolling and the burly Scottish men in their kilts decided to believe her._

_3) The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his pregnant wife Sophie by the Serbian Black Hand sparked the conflict that turned into WWI. Why were authorities not able to convict their killer of murder?_

_Because he killed them too!_

His questions, and my answers, get steadily more ridiculous as I go along. With a minute left to go, I have two questions left, and I'm ready to wring Mr. Richards' neck.

_39) Rasputin, advisor of sorts to the Tsar's wife, has since become quite legendary for the method of his murder. How was he killed?_

_40) King Ethelred the Unready of England in the eleventh century was called so why?_

I know at least part of the first one (thank heavens). As for the second, I think Mr. Richards stuck it in there just so I'll find out later and feel incredibly stupid. I really, really hate him.

_39) Rasputin, advisor of sorts to the Tsar's wife, has since become quite legendary for the method of his murder. How was he killed?_

_He was given enough cyanide (CN¯) to kill a horse, then shot, stabbed, burned, hung, thrown off a roof, tied up, chopped up, and tossed into the river. He drowned._

_40) King Ethelred the Unready of England in the eleventh century was called so why?_

_Because he was a retard._

The bell rings. I sigh in relief and almost throw the paper at him. I never want to touch it or see it ever again.

"Wait a moment," he says as I get up to leave. I'm hovering, tense, as he looks over the first three answers. "Well, I'm not surprised that you got all of these wrong. The word 'alchemy' comes from Greek, Jenny Geddes threw a stool at her minister, and the murderer wasn't convicted because they didn't know if he was seventeen or eighteen." He flips to the last page. "As for Rasputin, he was fed cyanide, shot, beaten, and then thrown in a river. You'll find out about King Ethelred."

"I'm going now," I say, rushing toward the door before he can stop me. I'm sure I almost ran over two people on their way through the portal, but I can't remember their faces. I am on a mission. I have to get to government class before I'm late. Again.

This time, I manage to pull it off. I'm on time, my work completed, so all in all Mr. Warren is in a far better mood with me today. For once, his class is almost interesting, and quickly over, leaving me to run back to Mr. Richards' hellish room. I think that he really must hate me, because he, too, is assigning an essay. Something to do with Germany and Austria. I'm going to have to go look up some things tonight so I'm not quite so clueless tomorrow. I really dislike him.

It seems that, apart from Mr. Richards, things are going my way today. I'm going to see Ed at the library after school. I haven't really gotten yelled at by any of my teachers. Wrath's not mad at me and he's used up his quota of perception for the year. And none of the Three Musketeers are in chemistry today.

I don't know where they've gone, but I can't care less. We have a quick lab today so I get shunted off to go work with the nerds in the other corner from my usual one. They seem somewhat reluctant at first, but I'm careful and try not to show any of them up (nerds hate it when you do that). By the end of the hour, it's almost like they respect me, just a little, and the bookworm Szeska and I have struck up a conversation about the various tomes we've gone through. I tell her about Tanya and she in turn informs me about the librarians at the library downtown, and where the reference section is. I like her.

The bell rings, my lab packet is finished for once, and I'm completely free to gather my things and leave. On his way to the door, Ed catches my eye—my heart leaps—and mouths, _"Four"_ while holding up the correct number of fingers. I nod and then he's whisked out the door by his friends, who seem to be complaining about the very project Ed and I are going to work on later today. _Ed and I_… I like the words, even if they don't quite mean what I want them to.

I don't have much to put in my bag, so my shoulder isn't breaking as I hop onto the bus. The substitute driver gives me a friendly smile that I reciprocate. She's so much nicer than the usual one.

I'm here before Wrath, so I pick a seat towards the back and dump my bag on the empty spot next to me. I lean my head back against the seat and look out the window, twisting the ends of my hair in my fingers. It feels better now that I'm getting used to having it down and loose. I swipe it all over one shoulder and comb through it absently.

Wrath shoves my bag over and drops unceremoniously beside me. I look over at him and find him studying me in return. I raise my eyebrows.

"What?"

"Your hair," Wrath says, pointing. "Where'd the hair band go?"

I shrug. It's easier than trying to explain that Ed pulled it out while we were kissing in the janitor's closet and evidently forgot to give it back. Not that I mind….

"Gwen talked to me today," Wrath pipes up proudly. "And _I_ at least had the courage to _talk_ to her. Why didn't you say something to your—"

"_Because_ I did later," I hiss, emphasizing the first word. He doesn't need to announce the fact that I love Ed to the entire bus.

It's just as much as a surprise as this morning when the driver gets us home twenty minutes ahead of schedule. Wrath and I wave as we leave. She salutes with a grin before driving off.

"D'you think if we killed our regular driver that we'd get her permanently?" Wrath asks.

"We can always try," I snicker. "Do you want to swing the killing blow or shall I?"

"We'd have to know where he lives first."

"Simple, look his name up in the phone book."

"We don't have his name."

"It's on his sticker thing on the front of the bus."

"Oh, yeah? Then what is it?"

"I can't remember."

A snort. "Some help _you_ are."

I stop suddenly, throwing out my arm to bring him to a halt as well. Wrath turns to me. "Envy…?"

"Whose car is that?" I inquire in a low voice, pointing at the black Audi parked beside our garage.

Wrath gulps. "I don't know."

I grab his arm and tow him to the back door, where we both shed our backpacks. I find my key before he does (for once) and manage to stick it into the lock without making too much noise. Wrath holds his breath as I turn it and then silently open the door. We both strain to hear any suspicious noises. I look at him wordlessly, and we both shake our heads. Neither of us can hear anything incriminating….

I beckon with one hand and we creep over the threshold, passing the shelf of riding boots and waltzing into the kitchen.

Where I come to a screeching halt and Wrath walks right into me. "Envy, what—" He stops short, seeing quite clearly, what.

Dante, our mother—all pale skin, dark hair, and purple eyes, just like Wrath and I—is wrapped around a man with some evidently predominant Italian heritage. The shoulder of her sweater has been pulled down. They both look up, her from the top of his head and him from her neck, and see us.

She pushes him away hurriedly. "What are you two—"

"Doing here so early?" I finish for her. "We had a substitute bus driver." My voice is cold as ice. I spin on my heel and drag a speechless Wrath right back out the door, slamming it behind me. I don't stop until we're inside the stables and out of hearing range. Only then do I release my little brother.

He stands there for a moment, still voiceless, eyes wide and face ashen. Then suddenly he activates, and with a scream of rage kicks the side of the stables hard enough to hurt his foot. The pain doesn't seem to reach him in his fury—now his eyes are flashing fire and he makes to go back to the house.

I link my arm with his and yank him back. I may be the weakest physically out of our family, but I'm still strong enough to make it count when it's important. He spins on me but stops in confusion when I pull out my cell phone.

Wrath stares at me for a moment before finally speaking. "… What are you doing?"

"I'm calling Greed," I say, voice clipped. I can't help it, and now he knows that I'm just as angry as he is. "He probably doesn't know."

Wrath doesn't argue with me. In fact, that one question seems to be the last of it, and he's shut down, the way he does to control his anger. Dante may be a bitch, but she sure as hell had some good naming sense. I steer him over to a box by our palomino stallion Xander's stall and let the horse nuzzle his hair. Then I finally press the green CALL button and hold the phone to my ear, the other arm crossed across my chest, foot tapping uncontrollably.

"Yo, this is Greed, how may I help you," my brother drawls after only two rings.

"It's Envy." And that's all that _I_ can say. I take a deep breath. I can't explode right now. I can't explode right now. If I blow up, I'll end up crying—for some reason, I do that when I get really angry—and then I'll be a mess and won't be able to go see Ed.

Just like that, my rage flickers and dims. Ed. Lovely, golden Ed. I take another, slower breath. I can be calm for Ed.

"Envy?" Greed's voice is sharp now. "What happened? Did someone do something to Wrath?" The last time I was this furious, back in eighth grade, some kid had pushed Wrath into the road and almost got him run over by a van coming around the corner. I came at him so fast that I don't think he saw me coming. Afterwards, Greed was the only one who dared get close enough to calm me down, but my rage was nothing compared to Wrath's when that same kid ran over his pet lizard. The kid has since been sent to Juvenile Hall, but the memory of that… well… wrath has been present ever since.

"Dante's having another affair," I say bluntly. Now is no time to mince words.

There's silence on the other end, and I can hear Lust ask something. Greed lets out a hard breath. "Lust wants to know how you found out."

Right. The Twin Telepathy. I swear they can read each other's minds, because Greed has the volume on his phone turned down so low that he can barely hear it, so no one can "listen in on my private calls." There's no way Lust could have heard.

"We walked in on it," I explain quietly, digging the toe of my shoe against the floor. "The bus got here twenty minutes early because we had a sub."

"Where's Wrath?"

"He's in his happy place, or whatever." I glance over at him. He still hasn't moved, though Xander is now nibbling on his hair like it's grass. "We're in the stable. Don't worry, nobody's dead."

"Yet," Greed growls. I can almost hear his teeth grinding. "Right, we're coming back. Be there in thirty minutes."

"Where are you?" I ask curiously.

"The store." I can hear him call to Lust. Knowing her, she's probably looking in the makeup aisle for some sort of weapon. I saw her stab one of her jerk boyfriends in the eye with her mascara wand, so it can be done. He barks a laugh. "She's asking if you want some nail polish."

I rake my hand through my hair. Oh, what the hell. "Sure. Black."

He stops. "You serious?"

"Of course I am. And not black with sparkles in it, that's too much. Don't let her do that. And by the way, I need to be at the library by four."

"What for?" He holds the phone away for a moment but I can still hear him murmur, "No, not that one, it's kind of glittery."

"History project." I wince, waiting for it. Even in a crisis, Greed can never resist—

"Ah—with _Ed_," Greed practically croons. I groan.

"Yes, now shut up. I need you back here in case Wrath decides that counting to ten isn't worth it."

"We're on our way," he says, and flips his phone shut. I close mine more slowly and little by little go over to sit on a crate beside Wrath. I drop my head into my hands and sigh.

Sometimes I really hate my mother.

**________________________________________**

**Nothing much to say here either... except sorry for the almost cameo appearance Dante made. Don't worry, she'll be back. And the detention may have been a little weird, but I'll take the time now to thank potions for foxes for helping me come up with some of those random questions. Mucho hugs to her! Otherwise I wouldn't have finished.**

**And now for the shameless self-promoting: you lot should go and look at _Real Men Wear Skirts_, my new story. No, it's not a crack fic. And it's set in my home town, so if any of you want to know what that's like....**

**Okay, so I was extremely honored that you guys kept reviewing even when I was horrible and didn't post anything for nearly two weeks. I would feel so special if you'd do it again! I really enjoy hearing what you think-- it helps me make the story better, so don't be afraid to tell me if you think something sucks!**

**And once again, I'm truly sorry for taking so long. (hangs her head in shame) You can all shoot me now... except then you wouldn't get the next chapter... so I guess I have some leverage after all. Har har.**


	12. Chapter 12Ed

**Yay! I finally got it done! I'm sorry for yet another long wait, and I'm afraid that there'll be another one before chapter thirteen. My knee surgery is tomorrow, and then I have to stay in the hospital for two to three days, and then after that, getting to the computer will probably be a chore, so I don't know when I can write the next section, let alone update. I promise that I'll go as fast as possible (even if I have to write it all up by hand).**

**Disclaimer: You lot don't really have to hear this anymore, do you?**

**WARNING: Yaoi action upcoming, my pretties! Might not be very good, but I wanted to give you something to tide you over. Boy x boy scene at the end!**

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Twelve

Ed

I'm lucky that I don't crash the car on my way home. Al and I are talking about Russell and Fletcher's weekend—apparently they had quite the experience, what with some of their chickens literally flying the coop. And then almost got eaten by a coyote. Which was then chased off by a mountain lion.

Yeah, I don't know either.

"And why are they not dead?" I ask in disbelief. And then I almost swerve off the road, because Al's biting his lip, and all of a sudden I remember my conversation with Envy outside math class today. More importantly, I remember how his white teeth creased those perfect lips as he thought. I'm almost drooling when I realize that we're heading on a crash-course for the fields on the other side of the road, and quickly jerk the wheel to put us back on course. Al gasps.

"Brother!"

"I know, I know!" I babble, my knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, that was my fault, I totally zoned out for a second…."

My heart feels like it's trying to run a marathon. I take deep breaths to calm down. Al seems to have decided that since nothing really happened that it's nothing to freak out over, and he's continuing with his story.

"Well, the reason they didn't get eaten by the cougar was because Mr. Kimblee—you know, that guy in your science class' dad?—had accidentally set one of his horses loose and it stomped on the lion's head…."

I'm still shaking when I turn the car off in my garage and stumble out. Al hops inside, leaving me to collect my backpack and try not to shake myself to pieces.

So yes, okay, Envy's totally gorgeous, but apparently he's becoming hazardous to my health. At least the fence leading to that field is flimsy and the car _probably_ wouldn't flip. Damn it all….

I take a deep breath and yank my things out of the trunk, slinging it over my shoulder. It doesn't matter. Nothing happened. Al and I are fine and the car isn't even dented. I didn't _actually_ get anywhere _close_ to crashing. I'm fine. We're fine. It's nothing to be worried about.

Feeling slightly better, I go on into the house.

Al is rooting through the refrigerator when I arrive, muttering something under his breath. I pause only to snatch a glass of water and check the clock before leaving. There's still almost two hours until I have to be at the library—that's plenty of time to gather up everything I might need, and to do some of the other homework I got today.

I stump up to my room, the ice in my glass clinking against the sides, and open the door by hitting it with my shoulder. I dump my bag on the bed and turn to kick off my shoes (which were _supposed_ to come off in the mudroom but didn't) in the direction of my closet. The one flies way off course and hits the pile of yearbooks I've peevishly stacked in the corner. I'm still blaming them a little for all the truths they have in their pages, so I refuse to touch them. Lousy things.

We did get some Physics homework today, so I pull that out and settle at my desk, automatically switching on my CD player. The song Indestructible by Disturbed comes up right away. It's one of my favorites, so I'm not complaining.

Physics is easy, as usual, and I toss it to the floor when I'm done. This occasionally leads to bent papers—whether my worksheet or the pages in the book I'm using—but it's easier than leaving them on the desk and having them take up loads of room.

Since nothing else looks terribly hard, either, I decide to forgo it for a later time and press the POWER button on my computer. While I'm waiting for it to come to life, I grab my backpack again and search for my history binder.

I find it at last, wedged into the bottom corner of my bag. How it got there I have no idea. I slap it down on my desk and open it, yanking my notes out of their carefully chosen storage spot and spreading them out all over the top of my desk. I manage to boot up my word processor on the computer and begin typing up what I've already decided are good topics. Everything from the first day in the library goes there. Once again, I'm wondering what in the name of chicken noodle soup (that was my mom's favorite thing to say when she was still alive) we are going to do to present this to the class. At least I'm less worried that Envy won't help. Something tells me that he just might follow my lead on this one.

I finish the list, feeling rather pleased with myself. Actually, this isn't half bad. We're probably farther than most of the class. This makes me feel much better about the whole thing.

I check the clock. It's just after three, so I still have time. I print out my list and put it in my binder as well, leaning it against the door so there's no way I can forget it. Then I finally get up, groaning, and trudge over towards my discarded shoe and the pile of yearbooks, grumbling all the while.

I move my sneaker and nudge open the closet door before bending to scoop up the entire stack of books. I'm lucky; as I'm maneuvering them back into position, only one of them falls. I sigh and refuse to look at it. It's only when the rest are in place that I go to pick it up, keeping my face averted from the open pages and groping behind me blindly until it's safe in my grip, any possibly offending pages hidden between the covers. I set it on top, regardless of order, and shut the doors on them.

That task finally completed, I flop back onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling. There's nothing else to do for the thirty minutes until I can leave and go to the library…. Gods, Envy is so beautiful. Weird, yes, but seriously attractive. And possibly able to shoot mind-altering waves from those eyes of his. _That_ would certainly explain why I kissed him on Friday, and why I still think that he's the loveliest thing on the whole planet. Yep. That has to explain it. Nothing else does.

But even if he is an alien, that doesn't change the fact that I'm hoping the library has private study rooms or something. Human or not, kissing him is still incredible. Taste, touch, smell—all of it seems hyper-stimulated in that situation. He's amazing.

And where the hell did all of _those_ thoughts come from?

I shake my head to rid myself of that weird train of thought and sit up, resolute. I'm going to go downstairs and watch TV with Al. That should help the time pass more quickly.

I turn off my computer. On my way out the door, I snatch up the binder and my shoes. I'll need those to get into the library in the first place. Al gives me the Look when I arrive downstairs with my shoes in hand. He hates it when I forget to take them off and end up tracking dirt all over the house.

"I'm sorry," I apologize as I drop everything by the door to the garage and come back, sitting down next to him on the sofa. "I don't usually forget…."

His expression softens slightly. "You are getting better," he concedes.

"What are you watching?" I ask, looking over at the TV screen. A commercial on multivitamins is on, which doesn't help me in deducing which channel he's on. Those things are everywhere.

Al shrugs. "Something on the Food Network."

Oh. Like you could maybe tell, I'm not that great of a cook. I've burned water before, and one time, back when mom was still alive and dad-the-bastard still lived with us, I blew up the microwave. The door came off and everything. Thank goodness I was only five and about two feet tall. The thing sailed right over my head, leaving me unscathed. The same, unfortunately, could not be said of the counter, where parts of the microwave landed.

Al, on the other hand, is a great cook. I'm sure I've said this before. He likes watching the Food Network to get tips, even though by this point he could probably advise several of those celebrity chefs on how to cook better. Personally, the only reason I watch the Food Network is in the hopes that Ace of Cakes might be on. That show is freaking _awesome_.

But anyway, my hope is all for naught, because when the commercial break is finally finished, the network tunes back into some show featuring some fat guy cooking up what looks like some kind of cake. Maybe. Or it might have been pudding. I'm not quite sure.

In any case, though, I actually recognize this one. The guy's name is Gluttony (appropriate much?) and Al and I have debated whether or not he's related to Envy and Co. Al's in favor of yes (after all, how many people can there possibly be who would name their children after the Seven Deadly Sins? You have to admit, there's probably only one—their mother), but I think that it's fairly unlikely (I mean, Lust and Greed are both in very good shape, Wrath's fairly normal, and Envy's anorexic. This Gluttony guy looks like he swallowed a cow, or possibly a blimp. This, plus the fact that his eyes are weirdly pale and not purple, doesn't seem to be much a family resemblance to me). But then again, either of us could be wrong. Or even both of us. Maybe Gluttony's a half sibling or something and he took after his dad so he's sort of related but not…. I don't know.

Al likes Gluttony's show—something about him being an honest chef, whatever that means—so I lean against the arm of the sofa and listen as he explains how to make the pudding/cake/pie thing, which has a weird French name that I can't pronounce, let alone spell. At least his directions are intelligible, and not just for the cooking fanatics.

But anyway, it isn't long that I check my watch and find that it's finally a respectable time for me to leave. I heave myself up. "See you around dinner time, 'kay?"

"Sure," Al says absently, his eyes glued onto the TV. I shrug, shove my feet into my sneakers, grab the binder and the keys to the car, and make sure to shut the door quietly behind me when I leave. Al also isn't that fond of people slamming doors. He claims that it's not necessary. I could think of a dozen situations where slamming a door would be necessary (mad axe murderer, angry girlfriend/boyfriend, zombies, etc.), but I never say so. It doesn't do to get Al angry with you.

It doesn't take me more than fifteen minutes to get to the library, which I'm glad of. It could be a lot worse of a drive, knowing how far apart houses are spread around here. Come to think of it, I have no idea where Envy lives. Hopefully it's close.

I park the Subaru and clamber out, binder under my arm. The librarians here are nice, if rather vague, so my list of topics should prove useful. If you're trying to research a broad topic such as, say, the eleventh century, the South Pueblo Public Library is not the place to go. You might get a history of the number eleven but that's about it.

The place is big enough, which is nice. There's only one level but it's a _large_ one level. Bookshelves extend into the distance until they're blocked by others. I can't see the end of them. Up in the front, by the windows, are seven tables. There are others scattered throughout the building, but everyone knows that these at the front are the best for meeting points. I select one that has a computer and sit down, pulling out my notes. I wish now that I had Envy's phone number—I hadn't thought of that. I'll have to find out what it is when he gets here. _If_ he gets here.

But I needn't have worried. Seconds after I'm done thinking that thought, a two-person BMW motorcycle pulls up in front of the library. It's easy to recognize Envy's brother Greed when he parks it. He isn't bothering to wear a helmet, which might not be legal, but I'd like to see someone try to take on Dante Bradley in court.

The slim rider in the back is Envy, of course (if I hadn't already known, the shirt with red Japanese symbols on it would've given him away). He pulls off his helmet and shakes his long hair out, sticking the white dome in the saddlebag things on the back of the bike. He yanks a notebook out of the same one.

I look at him closely. Something is off. He looks tired, which is strange, because Envy always manages to give off an impression of huge amounts of energy. They're talking, and even Greed looks stressed. That's even odder than Envy weary. Greed is _never_ stressed. The whole world knows that.

Envy shakes his head at something his brother says, and turns toward the door, waving his older sibling away. Greed sighs and revs the bike—it's very nice, all shiny and black—before peeling out of the parking lot and out of sight.

Envy must have seen me before he came in, which is understandable considering all of the windows on the front of the building, because as soon as he opens the door he makes a beeline for my table. He sets the notebook down before he sits, and even though he keeps his eyes on the table I can still see that they're bloodshot.

"Hey, you okay?" I ask, now more than slightly concerned.

"I'm fine." He does look up at me then, as though determined to prove that he's perfectly all right. For some reason, a faint blush rises in his cheeks and he looks away again. "So, how are we going to do this?"

"I made a list of all the things we're sure of so far," I begin, keeping a careful eye on him as I push my work towards him. "It's so much easier looking for specific topics in here than a general one. I guess we'll just divvy it up and if something interesting crops up in one of the books, pursue it."

"Okay." Envy stands up. "I know where the reference section is."

"Er—so do—"

"They moved it," he explains smoothly. Okay, now I'm sure that something's wrong. He's acting. For some reason that I still don't know, he's really very shy in one-on-one situations—or, well, he's very shy in front of me, anyway. Huh. Wonder why that is. I shove that thought aside and focus on thinking of a way to get the truth out of him.

I let him lead me to the opposite side of the library than where the reference section was previously, the list clutched in my hand. The longest strands of his wild hair brush just past his waist. I chew on my lip and try not to stare at his perfect ass.

We're lucky that there appears to be no one else in the library, so there's no one to stare when we scoot right into the section with the really heavy encyclopedias and such. Envy reaches up to pull one down. He holds it in front of him, head bent to read the cover, hair sliding in front of his face. He brushes it behind his ear impatiently, and I notice that his nails are painted a solid black.

"Nice nail polish," I say. Well, it's the truth. On most guys (or most _people_, even) it would look strange, but Envy somehow pulls it off. He appears to be rather good at that.

He seems surprised at my observation. "Oh. Thank you." Envy looks down at his long fingers with the oddest expression in his unusual eyes.

I check the list. "I don't think we need that one, there's nothing on here starting with the letter 'B'."

"I guess not," he agrees, pushing it back into place. He has to stand on his tiptoes to reach it, which makes me feel ever so slightly better—I can only just touch the base of the spine on those books.

He really does look much cuter with his hair down, I reflect. I hid his hairband in my locker; childish, perhaps, but he doesn't know the combination so he can't get it back. What I plan to do with it, I'm not entirely sure yet. Maybe I can use it for some kind of voodoo to make him tell me what's wrong.

Or maybe… I don't need voodoo at all….

I set the paper aside so I can't crush it as he turns back around to face me. "You listened to my advice," I chirp. When Envy looks confused, I gesture at his hair. As soon as he realizes what I'm talking about, his cheeks turn a delicious pink. The blush is back.

"Yeah, well…." He fiddles with the seam on his shirt, refusing to look me in the eye. "It's been a while since I wore it down anyway, so… s-so…."

I've touched his chin, tilted his head up, and brushed aside his bangs so he has to look at me, and something in there is apparently making him lose his train of thought. I fight the urge to smirk. He is putty in my (evidently) capable hands.

"You really should look at people when they're talking to you," I murmur, and then, before he can say a word, I pull him down and press his lips to mine.

Envy melts, his hands gliding across my face to sink into my hair. I caress him gently, trying to hold back a groan when he sighs, his sweet breath washing across my skin. I take the opportunity to do something that I've never, ever even _considered_ doing, and slip my tongue through the gap.

His taste overwhelms me. I'm going to be addicted to apples after this, I just know it, but it isn't enough to make me stop. He clearly doesn't mind the intrusion—Envy clings tighter, his fingers undoing the tie of my braid and combing it out. God, the way his movements tug my scalp is enough to send shivers down my spine.

Envy's ribs are digging into my forearms and, strangely enough, that only serves to enhance the experience. I kiss him harder, hold him tighter, and he surrenders, his back pressing against the bookshelf. Thank everything known to man that the wooden contraption is sturdier than most. It doesn't even really wobble.

Our lip-lock breaks, and my eyes flutter open. His purple orbs are still closed—he leans forward just slightly and gives me the shyest, sweetest kiss. I smile and stroke his cheek with the back of my hand, finally coaxing his eyes open.

"So what's wrong?" I ask, kissing him again when I'm done. Hey, he's addictive, and judging by his reactions, he likes it when I do so. Maybe it'll encourage him to talk to me. And _God_ he's good at it….

Envy shrugs. "Nothing much."

"Come on." I nuzzle his neck and press my lips against his artery. His breath is coming quicker, his fingers tightening convulsively in my hair. "It's obviously more than 'nothing much,' because even your brother was worried."

"It's n-noth—It's just—" Envy sighs and swallows hard. I pull back and look up at him seriously. He blushes again and drops his eyes to the floor. "My mother is having another affair."

"Oh." Even I can hear the surprise in my voice.

He laughs slightly, but it's cold, bitter. "Yeah. She's done it before, of course, so maybe we shouldn't be so surprised. But I mean, you'd think that she'd know better by now. And it's just…." He tilts his head back so he's staring at the ceiling. "I really, really hate her for it. I mean, wasn't our father good enough? She fooled around even when he was alive, and it's like she's, it's like she's, I don't know, insulting his memory or something." Envy sounds like he's about to cry. He grinds his teeth together and takes a deep breath. "Gods, we are so pathetic."

Envy tries to take his fingers out of my hair to brush away the three tears that have escaped, but they're tangled in my blonde locks. I raise my hands instead and do it for him, my hand lingering on his jawbone. I've never seen Envy cry before. I don't think anyone has. It makes me feel strange inside, like I'm seeing something I shouldn't, or something that I could have stopped. It doesn't make any sense, but I know that I have to calm him down.

"It's okay," I tell him quietly, trying desperately to think of what Al would say if he were here. "It sounds to me like your mom is a bitch." Okay, Al wouldn't have said that. Envy blinks at me. I try to backpedal. "I mean, about your dad's memory and all. Do you think she'd listen to you if you talked to her?"

"Dante?" Envy releases that same hard laugh as before. "No. No way."

"Well, if my dad was cheating on my mom's memory, I'd punch him, but I don't think that's a good solution here," I mutter, trying to think. "Maybe you could just sabotage it or something."

At least he's looking thoughtful now. "I never thought of that."

"I'll bet Wrath would help," I say quickly, capitalizing on my success. "It's not right that your mom should do this. She's not considering the, er, impact on the family."

Envy looks at me in some amusement. "You really are trying your best, aren't you?" There's some emotion in his voice that I can't decipher, but it sounds good, if rather disbelieving.

"That's what the psychiatrist said to Al and I after mom died," I explain. "Something about how her not telling us how sick she was hurt the family or whatever."

"Sounds like psychobabble to me," Envy says. He seems a little better, and a little is enough for me. I hop up on my tiptoes and kiss him firmly. His lips are softer than mine, more feminine; he yields to me and just hangs on tightly, like he's just glad to be along for the ride.

**_________________________________________________________________________________**

**And that was eleven pages rather than the usual nine or so. Huzzah!**

**Anyhow, please be wonderful like you've been so far and review! You should know that reviews will make me heal faster. Seriously. It has been scientifically proven that reviews are good for one's health. And if you give me reviews, when I get back and see them I'll be motivated to write faster, even if it's on paper. =D Thank you! And see ya next time!**


	13. Chapter 13Envy

**Oh, ugh! I'm so sorry! I swore to myself that I'd never leave my readers hanging for a month, and here I've gone and done it! I really am sorry, and I'm absolutely furious with myself because I did all but two of these sixteen pages this afternoon. As in, since five o'clock. I'm a terrible person.**

**I do have a good excuse, though. My knee is getting better, thanks for asking, but with physical therapy and flute lessons and being confined to the couch for weeks on end and finally getting around to doing my work for AP Language and Comp for next year, I've had virtually no time to get on here. And then, of course, my school year starts August 19th, so I don't know how regular updates will be after that. I have a fairly intense schedule....**

**Anyhow, enough about me. This is what you've waited way too long for! (I hope, anyway)**

**Disclaimer: don't own. Never will. I do laugh my head off at the new anime episodes, though. No idea why.**

**WARNING: bromance ahead, peeps. And a little bit of a catfight, but that's not exactly really scary or anything....**

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Thirteen

Envy

By the time Wrath recovers and the two of us make our way back inside—through the front door, this time—Italian Guy has left. I'm glad. This way we don't have to look at him again, and I'm fairly sure Wrath would lose it if we did.

Dante is sitting on the couch in the living room, her shirt back on straight, and she immediately gets up the moment we enter. I grasp Wrath's arm to be safe, so he doesn't launch himself at her. I don't blame him, but I need to get to the library.

"Boys," she begins, but Wrath cuts her off.

"Shut up! Just shut up! I don't want to hear it!" He takes a step forward, straining against my hand. His purple eyes are narrowed to violent slits. "You _always_ do this! Why? What the _hell_ is there to gain?"'

"Wrath," I attempt, pulling lightly on his arm, but he doesn't seem to hear me.

"You're just playing around, aren't you!" he practically screeches. "It doesn't matter to you what the rest of us feel, and then you just ditch those stupid men when you're done with them! God, what is your _problem?_"

"Wrath, silence!" Dante barks. I'm surprised that she let him go on as long as she did. Her face is white with fury. She hates it when people talk back to her. "How _dare_ you speak to me that way!"

"Because you're a _bitch!_" Wrath yells back. "Was dad not good enough for you? Huh? Does he not matter at _all?_ Was he just another tool?"

"Wrath," I say, raising my voice from last time. This time, it gets through to him, and he turns to look at me. "Come on." I tighten my grip on his arm and glare at our dear mother. "Let's go," I mutter resentfully, tugging him towards the stairs, pushing him up in front of me.

"Do not walk away from me!" Dante comes after us, marching up the stairs to snatch my wrist and tug me around. I use my other hand to push Wrath forward, forcing him to continue away from her. "_You_ are embarrassment enough without defying me," she tells me, her voice quiet but deadly. "Don't you dare do this."

"Wrath, keep going," I call evenly. My eyes never leave Dante's—identical in their shape and color, the same eyes Lust and Greed have, as well as Wrath. Only Pride and Sloth got our dad's green orbs.

Her eyes widen in rage. "You little bitch," she whispers, and in a blur, her hand flies out and slaps me across the face.

It hurts. The sharp sting lances straight to my eyes, and I blink hard, raising one hand to touch my cheek. I don't like my mother, but all of those might-have-beens, the happy family we could have been, even seeing other content families, makes it hurt inside whenever she does something like this. I hate it, because it makes me vulnerable, and she always takes advantage of this.

"So you think you can stand up to me?" Dante demands, a sneer in her voice. "You, the girl in a boy's body? I doubt you could take on a ninth grader, let alone myself."

"You leave him alone!" Wrath shouts. He comes around me, puts his hand across my chest, and tries to push Dante away. Her fingers dig deep into the fabric of my sweater, narrowly missing my skin. I yelp in surprise when Wrath pulls me backward. My sleeve rips, and I'm free, and the next thing I know _Wrath_ is pushing _me_ up the stairs, the exact opposite of two minutes previously. "Stay back!" Wrath adds, glaring at her as he continues moving us both up the stairs.

Her face is white with rage. "You'll regret this, both of you!" she snarls. She doesn't have the strength to beat both of us—maybe me on my own, but never Wrath—so she has to step down as my little brother rushes me to the second floor and towards the next set of stairs.

By the time we reach the third level, there's about an equal amount of pushing ahead and pulling back between Wrath and I. Each of us keeps changing our mind whether or not we want to go back and confront Dante again. Eventually, though, Wrath drags me into his bedroom and shuts and locks the door after us, just in case.

Wrath's bedroom is a mess. Already worn clothes lay strewn all across the floor, and that coupled with his sheets and guitar songbooks means that the carpet is impossible to see—literally. About the only clean space is in the back left corner, where Wrath puts his electric guitar. He's lovingly arranged it on its stand, and there's a box full of old music next to it.

The pale beige color of his walls is also hard to see under the deluge of posters, most of which involve the heavy metal band Apocolyptica, which I know from the many times he's shouted it at me is made up of four Finnish cellists. Wrath's dream is to get a cello and play like they do, but Dante put her foot down at that and refused to give him the money to do so, so he's had to stay with his electric guitar instead.

His desk is yet another disaster zone. So much junk surrounds the computer and keyboard that I can't understand how he works at all. Sometimes, when I end up in Wrath's room, I have that whole OCD itch to throw three-quarters of Wrath's stuff away and tidy up the rest. I'm certain that he'd thank me—fifty years from now, kneeling in remorse in front of my grave just before the police finally arrest him for my murder. This would be the reason why I haven't gone ahead and done it.

I kick some clothes out of my way and go sit on the edge of his bed, inspecting the rip in my turtleneck. "Ah, damn her. She's ruined it."

"Our mom is having yet another affair and all you can think about is your _clothes?_" Wrath sounds incredulous.

"It's a distraction," I mumble, dropping onto my back and staring up at the ceiling. Before you ask, he's covered that with posters, too. "And besides, I'm gay, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." I'm not really all that surprised that Wrath forgot. He does things like that. He steps on all of his shirts on his way over to plop down next to me. "When are Greed and Lust getting back?"

I check his clock. "Fifteen minutes or so."

Wrath sighs and falls so he's on his back as well. He shoves his hair back away from his face. "I can't wait to get out of this house," he says quietly.

"Me neither." I roll onto my side so I'm facing him and prop my head up on my palm. "I think that's why Greed's leaving anyway, even though he isn't going off to school."

"That, and he and Lust always have to do the same thing," Wrath mutters. "I wish I had a twin. It'd be like having your best friend around all the time."

"Well, maybe not. Some twins aren't alike at all."

He scowls. "Stop clouding the issue with facts. I was enjoying the mental images, and then you had to go and ruin it! I thought they said gay guys are really nice!"

"Obviously, they've never met me," I chirp, and poke him hard in the side.

Wrath yelps and twists away, pulling himself up so he's sitting facing me. He scowls. "That was mean! You know I'm ticklish there!"

I smirk. "Precisely."

Within moments, though, our mirth has died down and we're silent once more, thoughts turning back to our mother and her near-constant infidelity. You'd think we'd be used to it by now….

"I hate her," I say suddenly. Wrath does nothing but nod in agreement, and we sit, completely silent, until we hear the roar of Lust's Ferrari coming up the driveway. I'll bet it matches the roar of her temper, and there'll probably be another shouting match before we see the twins. Sure enough, not even a minute later,

"WHERE IS SHE? I'M GOING TO KILL HER!"

We can vaguely hear Greed telling Lust to calm down, but I think we all know that it won't work, because a split second afterwards,

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT MURDER CHARGES, I'M STILL GOING TO KILL HER!"

"Who exactly are you talking about, young lady?" Dante barks, though she knows perfectly well who.

"YOU, YOU BITCH!" Lust screeches. I can almost hear Greed holding her back—her heels tend to squeal if you drag her back on hardwood. "DON'T YOU CARE AT ALL—"

"About your father?" Dante yells back. "In case you hadn't noticed, daughter dear, he's DEAD!"

"It doesn't MATTER!" Lust shrieks. "You acted like a slut THEN and you're _still_ acting like one n—"

"DON'T YOU _DARE_ SPEAK TO ME THAT WAY!"

Wrath groans and buries his head in his knees. "Why is it that when girls get in a fight they scream like that?"

I shrug. "Dunno."

"I'LL SPEAK HOWEVER I LIKE—"

"NOT WHILE YOU'RE IN THIS HOUSE, YOUNG LADY!"

"FINE!" Lust screams. "FINE! IT'S A GOOD THING I'M LEAVING, THEN!" Her heels scrape on the floor again. "Greed, let me _go!_"

I hear her stomp to the stairs, and then the carpet cuts off the sound of her shoes. Wrath and I don't move. She clicks her way across the floor on our level and rips open the door.

Lust's hair is in disarray, though her makeup is perfect. Her purple eyes are spitting sparks as she steps across the threshold and slams the door behind her.

She kicks viciously at a pile of Wrath's dirty clothes, sending them flying. "Urgh!" she practically shrieks, striding across the room to slam herself into Wrath's desk chair. "I hate her! I really, really hate her!"

"It's a unanimous vote," I say tonelessly. None of us are looking at each other.

The door opens again and Greed comes in. The ends of his sweater look strangely uneven; he tends to pull on the hems of his shirts when he doesn't want to start shouting. There's a semi-opaque plastic bag slung over his shoulder, and he tosses it at me.

"There," he mumbles. "I felt like an idiot carrying that around, but I didn't want Lust stabbing a mascara wand into someone's brain."

"You should've let me," Lust grumbles.

I don't bother sitting up, instead upending the bag onto the bed beside me. There is indeed not one but two little containers of mascara, one of eyeliner, and a tiny vial of black nail polish.

There's silence once more, though this one is notably less silent than the one shared between Wrath and I. The two of us are still quiet, as is Greed, but Lust is growling to herself under her breath.

"What happened to your shirt?" she asks abruptly, pointing to my sleeve. I hold my arm up and look at it without much interest. I can see my white skin through the rip.

"Dante got her fingers in it."

"I was getting her to let him go," Wrath explains quickly.

"It looks beyond repair," Lust says baldly. She props her elbow on Wrath's desk and her cheek on her fist. I can see that she's trying to distract herself, to escape from her anger and disappointment. Somehow, we all always expect more from our mother.

"Yeah, I know," I sigh. "I'll have to change…." I force myself into a sitting position and scoop up the nail polish. "Thanks for this, by the way."

"No problem." Greed goes to sit on the other edge of the bed. "You going to be all right in time to go to the library? No, scratch that," he amends instantly, "it's your Ed. You'd be ready for anyth—"

"Oh, shut up," I say, giving him a half-hearted shove. I get to my feet. "When do we have to leave?"

Greed checks his watch. "I'd say in twenty minutes. Be prepared, though, we're taking the motorcycle."

"I have been warned." I pick my way through Wrath's mess towards the door. "See you guys later."

The twins stay put, probably to talk to Wrath about what just happened. I shut the door as quietly as I can—no sense in letting Dante know one of us is going to be alone and vulnerable—and out of habit my eyes flick to the door across the hall.

The house is going to be so empty when Greed and Lust leave. Dante has her huge bedroom on the ground floor so she doesn't have to deal with stairs. The twins have claimed the second all to themselves. Wrath used to share the third with Gluttony, but he's been gone for a while. The fourth is completely devoid of life—Pride and Sloth had their rooms there. I'm used to being the only one on the fifth floor, but not hearing noise from the twins' floor in the morning… well, annoying as it can be sometimes, I'll miss it.

Back in the safety of my own (neat) room, I shed the ruined sweater and toss it into the wastebasket. A quick search of the drawers in my dresser yields a long-sleeved black shirt and my more usual grey-with-Japanese-symbol variety. After that, I sit at my desk and, for lack of anything better to do, use some of the black polish to paint my nails. That, luckily, takes up all the time I have left, and I head for the stairs. I have to find my notebook before we go.

Dante isn't in the kitchen or the sitting room when I arrive, and neither is Greed. I find my backpack where I'd dumped it in the mudroom and drag out my notes. I might as well have my own copy of what we're going to do. I'm just getting around to lacing up my sneakers when Greed comes down. The only thing that's changed about his appearance is that he's wearing his Biker Jacket. He got it at a Harley Davidson store in New York when his Economics class went there a few years back. It's leather, of course, and anyone from even a grade below Wrath will remember Greed and his Biker Jacket. That's another thing I already miss—I'm so used to having them just a year ahead of me that their being gone is a blow.

We make our way, without talking, to his section of the garage. There's only one helmet hanging on a hook in front of the bike. Greed never wears a helmet, because he says he looks cooler without one, and who gets girls wearing a helmet anyway? I wouldn't know, except that I made him buy one so that whenever the rest of us have to hitch a ride we won't have to fear for our lives one hundred percent of the time—it's down to only about eighty now.

Greed courteously waits for me to jam my notebook in the bags he has on the back and put on my helmet before he turns the motorbike on. There are people who think that because I ride horses that I love motorcycles, but the opposite is true. I'm pretty much terrified of shiny two-wheeled contraptions with engines, though most of this blame probably goes on Greed's shoulders.

He drives like a maniac. This time, like always, I close my eyes, hang on as tightly as I possibly can, and try to convince myself that it's nothing but a rollercoaster. This time, like always, I completely fail. It's been years since I've actually thrown up, and I want to keep it that way.

Luckily, we arrive at the library completely unscathed. Well, physically, anyway. My therapy sessions in the future will probably revolve prominently on Greed's driving skills.

I resist the urge to fall off the bike and kiss the ground, but it's a close thing. I practically rip the helmet off my head and run my fingers through my hair, shaking the knots out of the dissident strands. I stuff the thing into the same bag as my notebook, barely managing to extract that without pinching my fingers.

Ed's already here. I would've known anyway by his car—yes, I've memorized it and yes, I know I'm obsessed—but I can see him inside, sitting at one of the tables. Instantly, some of the tightness in my chest, which has been there ever since Wrath and I walked in on Dante and Mystery Man, disappears without a trace.

"I'll call you when we're done," I tell Greed, tucking my notebook under my arm. "You drive fast enough that it won't matter."

He sighs. "Maybe I shouldn't go."

I look at him in confusion. "Go where?"

"To Spain, of course. I can't just leave you and Wrath here alone to deal with Dante. She's insane, and from what Wrath said you'll probably be seeing more of that Italian guy." He takes a deep breath as I stare at him in shock. "I don't think you two can handle it."

"Oh." I blink. "Um. Okay. Seriously, Greed, that's nice and all, but Wrath and I aren't children. We'll be fine. You go off and have fun in Spain and send lots of pictures and make sure Lust doesn't get married without us knowing."

"What?"

"No, wait, scratch that last bit, she'll have to date him for five years and go on his yacht before she marries him," I mutter under my breath. His face is drawn when he looks at me—he's really stressed, something any of us rarely see. He probably thinks I'm insane. Not, I mean, that that's why he's so stressed, I just mean that it could be a contributing factor.

"Are you sure?" he asks. He really is seriously considering this. I'm surprised.

"Of course I'm sure. Wrath and I will be _fine_. If we kept you here you'd be miserable. Follow Lust and keep her out of trouble, gods know she needs it."

"But—"

"_Go._"

"But I can't just _leave!_"

I shake my head. "Get out of here, Greed." I turn and head for the front door of the library, waving one hand to emphasize my point. He revs the engine and, to my immense relief, roars away. Now all I have to do is try not to stutter or trip or do anything else stupid in front of Ed. Ah, well.

He's looking closely at me when I sit down, and I'm suddenly nervous. I'm not completely sure how observant he is, but he probably doesn't have to look closely to see that I—

"Hey, you okay?"

Damn it. He's more observant than Wrath, then.

"I'm fine." _Look at him. Look at him, dammit!_ I obey my subconscious and look up into Ed's golden eyes.

Mistake.

I can't meet his eyes, apparently, without blushing. _But he's looking at me! At _me_!_ I tear my gaze from his and fix it on the table. It's so much safer this way, even if I'm already craving another glimpse. I cast around for something to say.

"So, how are we going to do this?"

It comes out so much smoother than I could have hoped—usually I trip over at least one word…. And then I have it. I'm taking an acting class, aren't I? All I have to do is pretend everything is perfectly all right and my heart isn't doing jumping jacks every time I look at him and that I know what I'm talking about, thank you very much.

"I made a list of all the things we're sure of so far." He moves the small stack of papers in front of him so I can see. It is, indeed, a typed-up list of the topics we discussed, and, to my intense embarrassment (and a great deal of pleasure, I have to admit) some of the ideas I'd come up with over the weekend. He remembered! "It's so much easier looking for more specific topics in here than a general one," Ed explains. "I guess we'll just divvy it up and if something interesting crops up in one of the books, pursue it."

"Okay." Yes. I can do this. I can act. I get to my feet, and my memory flies all the way back to chemistry, and my conversation with Szeska. "I know where the reference section is."

Ed looks confused, his brow furrowing. "Er—so do—"

"They moved it," I say quickly. Well, it is true, and Szeska told me where they'd moved it. I'm just glad that my acting ability hasn't deserted me this time—if it had, I likely wouldn't be able to talk at all.

He seems willing enough to trust me, which makes my heart feel so much lighter. We leave—abandon is more like it—my poor innocent notebook to keep the table ourselves in the unlikely event anyone else should show up. Ed takes his notes with him and follows me to the back right corner of the building.

Szeska's information is accurate—I find the heavy tomes exactly where she said I would, to my immense relief. I'm starting to lose it. Ed is _right there_, almost beside me, so close that if I wanted to I could _touch_ him, and I want to so badly but I don't have the courage. I grab the first encyclopedia I see and flip it open to a random page. I have to distract myself. My unruly hair slides in front of my face, distracting me from distracting myself. I shove it back, momentarily wishing for a pair of hedge trimmers.

"Nice nail polish."

Shock snaps though me like a lightning strike, and I can't help but jerk slightly. He doesn't sound patronizing—in fact, he sounds kind of admiring, which is completely bizarre. Somehow, I manage to connect my brain to my tongue again, and I say, "Oh. Thank you" in time for it not to be awkward. Thank god. I stare down at my fingers. Nobody's ever liked my nail polish before….

"I don't think we need that one," Ed tells me, jerking me from my thoughts, "there's nothing on here starting with the letter 'B'."

Oh. Duh. "I guess not," I manage, reaching up to put it back in place. Damn, now I don't have anything to divert my attention from Ed…. And would it hurt all _that_ much if I just _looked_ at him one more time? I can't resist. I can't stop myself, and I turn towards him, looking him full in the face. He's putting the list down, and his eyes pierce mine.

"You listened to my advice," he says cheerfully.

I'm instantly lost. What advice? But I can't remember anything, nothing at all—there's only his eyes, and his voice, and he's _so close_….

Ed waves a hand at my hair.

Oh. Right. _That_ advice. He—he likes it down, and here it is, hair-band-free. He _likes_ it. I can feel myself blushing, so much stronger than before, and I know he can see it. That only makes me blush harder. Can I never be composed around him? I drop my eyes to the floor and start tugging on the hem of my shirt, like Greed does when he's angry, only I do it when I'm extremely nervous.

"Yeah, well…. It's been a while since I wore—" his fingers are on my chin "—it down anyway—" he's tilting my head up so I have to look him in the eyes and I can't believe that I'm still talking coherently "—so… s-so…." Ed brushes aside my bangs, tucking them securely behind my ear and setting me on fire.

Instant thought implosion. I can't even breathe. All I know is that he's touching me, and he's looking at me with those _eyes_, and I am completely helpless.

"You really should look at people when they're talking to you," he tells me softly. I can only blink, and then his fingers have brought my head down; he kisses me, and I'm gone.

His arms come around me to hold me close, and without even really thinking about it I slide my hands across his perfect face and finally, _finally_ slide them into his golden locks. His hair is so soft and thick. His fingers are moving across my back—jolts race up my spine and I can't help but sigh in contentment. He makes a soft sound deep in his throat—a groan, maybe?—and then his tongue skips over my lower lip and into my mouth.

_Ohgodohgodohgod—_I hold onto him with all the strength I can muster from my melting limbs. Somehow, I slip off the tie holding his hair back, letting it fall to the ground. I comb through his hair with my fingers. It's smooth, and flows through my fingers like water. I can't get enough. He tastes like joy, and I can't stop my fingers from sliding through his gold-spun hair. I don't want to stop. I don't want to stop, not in a million years.

He pulls me closer and his mouth moves harder against mine. I don't care. My back hits the bookshelf—thank heavens it doesn't fall over—and I can feel his heart beat against my ribs, fast and irregular.

His lips part from mine slowly, but I can still feel him, lingering close. I have my hands in his hair, his arms are still in the region of my waist, and all I can think is _I love you._

It doesn't take much to cross the distance between us and kiss him instead of saying the words. I'm nowhere near brave enough to say them—not now, and maybe not ever—but I can touch my lips to his and try to convey that message without saying those three words.

I can almost feel him smile, and Ed strokes my cheek. My eyes flicker open; I look down at him in a daze.

"So what's wrong?" Ed asks innocently. Down I go again and his lips are on mine. A shiver wracks my body, my attempt at suppression failing miserably. I can't resist him, and I think he knows that.

I take a deep breath and struggle to hold on to my composure. I shrug. "Nothing much," I lie.

Ed hums just slightly—I don't think he realizes it. "Come on," he whispers against my throat. I'm almost panting as he kisses my neck, teasing the nerves. Electricity is going haywire throughout my body; my fingers tangle in his smooth hair. It takes everything I have not to moan. "It's obviously more than 'nothing much,' because even your brother was worried."

_I'll have to tell Greed off when I get home,_ I think dazedly. Ed's waiting for an answer, though, and I can't dwell on my revenge.

"It's n-noth—" I can't talk, not when he's doing what he's doing to my throat. I try again. "It's just—" I exhale and fight to compose myself. I have the uncomfortable feeling that it's a losing battle.

Ed finally leaves my neck alone and looks up at me, his golden eyes serious. He's worried about _me_. Heat rises in my cheeks and once more my eyes find safety in the floor.

"My mother is having another affair."

The words come out as though someone else had spoken them—I'm standing there in disbelief that they emerged, because it isn't me. I haven't said the words since I told Greed, and they bring back a deluge of memories. I feel tears prick my eyes but I stubbornly fight them off.

"Oh." Ed sounds shocked. I know his family isn't perfect—his mom died and his dad left them shortly afterwards—but he has the composure of a well-cared-for child, the kind that I envy… no pun intended.

Somehow, a laugh forces itself out of my throat, but it doesn't really count as one; it's harsh and frigid, the kind of laugh that comes when people are hysterical with grief in the movies. "Yeah," I say. "She's done it before, of course, so maybe we shouldn't be so surprised. But I mean, you'd think that she'd know better by now. And it's just…." I let my head fall back against the bookcases. I'd really like to stop talking now, but my mouth is out of my control. "I really, really hate her for it. I mean, wasn't our father good enough?" A pang spears my heart, that place usually reserved for Ed, when I picture his laughing face, light brown hair tumbling over his forehead, green eyes shining. He died in a car crash when I was six, so the picture is blurred and faded with age. Sloth is the spitting image of our dad, especially when she laughs, which is why I think she spends so much time calm and indifferent to everything around her. "She fooled around even when he was alive, and it's like she's—" I have to force back the tears again, and I stumble "—it's like she's, I don't know, insulting his memory or something." I'm starting to lose it. I can't cry, not in front of Ed. He's so much stronger, so much braver than I am. He never cried in front of anyone else about his mother dying. I'm grinding my teeth without really realizing it, and take a deep breath to make myself stop. Against my will, I feel something wet slide from the corner of my eye. "Gods, we are so pathetic."

I try to pull my fingers free to get rid of these stupid tears, but I've somehow knotted myself all up in his hair, and I don't want to hurt him. Ed's hands gently wipe away the moisture, the one almost cradling my jaw when he's done. He seems so concerned. I don't know why. I'm taking deep breaths to calm down, but it isn't really working. I'm not worth his concern; he shouldn't waste it on me when he could worry about his brother or something—

"It's okay," he says, his voice low. He looks like he's frantically trying to come up with something to say. He's wasting all of this effort on me? "It sounds to me like your mom is a bitch." I'm mildly startled. Most people insist that my mom is not all that bad until they meet her. Ed looks horrified, like he's committed some kind of faux pas. "I mean, about your dad's memory and all," he adds hastily. "Do you think she'd listen to you if you talked to her?"

"Dante? No. No way." Oops, I did that laugh again….

"Well, if my dad was cheating on my mom's memory, I'd punch him, but I don't think that's a good solution here," Ed mumbles under his breath. I fight the bizarre urge to chuckle. He's so funny. "Maybe you could just sabotage it or something," he suggests, looking up at me hopefully.

Sabotage? "I never thought of that." It's a good idea….

"I'll bet Wrath would help," Ed tells me swiftly, his eyes lighting up. "It's not right that your mom should do this." He nods seriously. "She's not considering the, er, impact on the family."

_The what?_ I want to laugh again, this time a real laugh. What on earth is he going on about? "You really are trying your best, aren't you?" I can't believe the words fell out, but there they are. And he really _is_ wasting his effort, his care on _me_. I'm elated, though at the same time I can't believe what I'm hearing. It can't be true. This has to be a dream. Ed doesn't like me. He doesn't care about what's bothering me. He can't. I'm not sure what I would do if he did.

"That's what the psychiatrist said to Al and I after mom died. Something about how her not telling us how sick she was hurt the family or whatever." He shrugs sheepishly.

"Sounds like psychobabble to me." You never know what those psychiatrists will come up with next. Ed bounces up onto the balls of his feet and presses his lips forcefully against mine. I submit instantly and manage to slip one hand free of his golden hair to wind around his shoulders. I don't know where this is going and I don't know what he feels about it, but I can't bring myself to care. Right now, this instant, I'm in his arms, where I've dreamed of being for years, and I can't help but feel that faint, fluttering bird, Hope, stirring in my heart for the first time in a decade.

It's wrong to hope. If this all goes wrong, I'll be so much worse off than before. Hope can destroy me.

Even so—I hope.

**_________________________**

**Ta-da! And there you have it! I'm sorry it didn't really get anywhere-- I meant for it to, but it just kept getting longer and longer and I wanted to give you faithful readers something, so I gave up on trying to make it move somewhere and settled for ending in the exact same place as last chapter. It ended up at sixteen pages, so that's something. Ah, well....**

**Anyway, thank you very much to everyone who reviewed and wished for my surgery to go well! I beg your pardon for taking so long. Thank you!**


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